


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


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LAST VON RECKENBURG 


BY 

LOUISE VON FRANCOIS 





TRANSLATED BY J. M, PERCIVAL 

I 


TRANSLATOR OF “ THE ROUMANIAN FAIRY TALES,” “THE 
ROMANCE OF THE CANONESS, ETC ” 


First American 

FROM THE Third German Edition 



BOSTON 

CUPPLES AND HURD 

Boylston Street 

1887 



# 


Copyright, 1887, 

By Cupples and Hurd. 


All Rights Reserved. 


CThe ^ark ^^rrsa. 


V 


PREFACE 


®0 tf)e Eftirti (hetman l£lifti0n. 


In consequence of the favorable notice which 
“The Last von Reckenburg,” from its first appearance, 
has attracted throughout the reading world, we deem 
it fitting to print in the third edition of the work the 
opinion of Gustav Freytag, a recognized authority in 
the domain of literature. The latter in writing about 
the novel to the newspaper “Im neuen Reich” 
under date of 1872, Volume VIII., had, among other 
things, the following lines : 

“ Under the gigantic title is one of the best novels 
that has appeared during the last decade and, in spite 
of the French coloring of the author’s name, it is the 
mind of a German woman, which will become en- 
deared to the reader through the book. The name 
of Francois has long been favorably known in the 
Prussian army, now a daughter of this war-like race 
has rapidly advanced to a prominent position in the 


VI 


PREFACE. 


rank and file of our literature. Those who have 
read the two volumes of her novelettes, which ap- 
peared almost simultaneously with this work, already 
know the authoress as a highly cultivated woman, 
who understands how to describe with a firm hand 
and subtle feeling the emotions of her heroes’ souls, 
but these smaller tales have but a distant resemblance 
to the charm and originality of this novel ; the enjoy- 
ment of reading the former is lessened by a prepon- 
derance of reflection over ardent feeling, and the 
combining of characters according to very artificial 
suppositions; in the novel everything is simpler, 
more natural, warmer, the descriptions are often 
masterly and pervaded by a peculiar, extremely effec- 
tive coloring. It is genuine literary work. . . . 

“The historical events of the last century are used 
with great skill ; they form a distant background 
which, however, is distinct enough to give the per- 
sonages and scenes described an atmosphere of the 
times and fix the period of the story. The inner 
connection of events, that is, their influence on the 
characters of the different personages, is perhaps the 
greatest charm of the book. Not only the heroine 
and Dorothee, but the old countess, the young prince. 
Captain von Reckenburg, are thoroughly natural, 
easily understood characters of their day ; even the 
physician Faber, Dorothee’s deceived husband, whose 
traits of character are more artificial, and who had to 


PREFACE. 


vii 

play a part improbable in itself, is thoroughly true in 
the main points of his nature ; we can understand 
that he, too, under this precise combination of cir- 
cumstances, is possible ; only it was not advisable to 
employ a character of such marked peculiarities in a 
secondary position. 

*‘The authoress shows a thorough knowledge of the 
human heart and unusual keenness of observation. 
The characters are all well adapted for the object in 
view and their outlines are drawn with great firmness. 
Even the circumstances in which her personages are 
placed are correctly delineated, and only a few trifles 
will remind the reader that a woman guides the pen ; 
for instance, where she describes the influence ex- 
erted by the character of the owner of the estate upon 
the whole nature of her village tenants. The peculiari- 
ties of a proprietor could hardly be so stamped upon 
the peasants, the singing of the lads and lasses, • and 
their social intercourse, could only be restrained by 
some strong religious influence like that possessed by 
the Moravians. Here greater moderation might have 
been preferable. The firm hand of this talented 
woman is shown even in the language. Clear, terse, 
with not a word too much, and rich in powerful ex- 
pressions, it depicts everything in short sentences, 
obedient to every mood, every change of color. 

“The most beautiful part of the story is the descrip- 
tion of life in the little Saxon city, the history of the 


Vlll 


PREFACE. 


girls’ childhood — the simple, daily routine in the 
officer’s household, the dancing lessons, the ball given 
in honor of the prince, the emotions that follow it. 
This chapter possesses a charming poetry and quiet 
humor admirably adapted to the grave heroine who 
relates this portion. The talent of the authoress is 
no less apparent in the tragic scenes. These show a 
rare strength and boldness of invention — the secret 
struggles of the jealous Hardine, Dorothee’s terror on 
her wedding day lest the friend of her childhood 
should appear to interrupt the marriage, the last 
interview between the two friends, and Dorothee’s 
death. Even these powerful effects are pro- 
duced by the shortest possible portrayal of passionate 
emotion, the description is curt, but extremely strik- 
ing, a few important moments are made prominent 
in a way to excite and rivet the reader’s imagination. 
The short, bold strokes, a very discreet management 
of passionate scenes, and the rare gift of entire free- 
dom from sentimentality permit the authoress to 
depict situations and circumstances which, in gen- 
eral, would not probably offer the easiest problems for 
a woman’s pen. The clear, strong language allows 
no feeling of discomfort to arise, we place implicit 
reliance upon the ethos of the writer, a pure atmos- 
phere, an air of cleanliness pervades the book and 
strengthens the reader. He feels that he is holding 
intercourse with an authoress by the grace of God. 


PREFACE. 


ix 


Readers will always close the volume with a con- 
sciousness that they have received a rare gift. The 
novel, we hope, will take a firm hold of every heart 
and maintain its prominence in our literature. We 
congratulate authoress and public.” 

Berlin^ July^ 187 j. 


The Publisher. 



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CONTENTS. 

— « — 

Chapter Page 

The Introduction i 

I. The Rose and its Leaf 58 

II. Mosjo Per-se 79 

III. The Black Countess von Reckenburg . . . loi 

IV. The Hereditary Prince 125 

V. The Last Dance .144 

VI. The Betrothal Arbor 173 

VII. The Battle of Valmy , 189 

VIII. Nurse Justine’s Foster-Child 206 

IX. The Wedding 233 

X. “1806” 262 

XI. The New Government 294 

XII. Mother and Son 312 

Appendix by the Editor 334 

The Fountain of Youth 355 


THE L/fST TON RECKENBURG 


THE LAST VON RECKENBERG. 


THE INTRODUCTION. 


It was about two years after the battle of Wa- 
terloo, that, in a little city on the frontiers of the 
Netherlands, a daughter was born to parents in very 
humble circumstances. 

The little foreign city is not the scene of our story 
and the little foreign people are not its personages. 
This every-day event, however, will as it were form 
the pivot around which the latter are to move, for if 
this little child had not been born, or if it had not 
been born in a foreign land and in poverty, the wide 
world would have known nothing of our real heroine 
and we should not have revealed her secret. 

The child’s father was still young, perhaps scarcely 
twenty-one, and moreover a man of remarkable, we 
might say chivalrous strength and beauty of form, 
though traces of the rude life of camps were legible 
in the prematurely aged, scarred features, and the 
loss of an arm had made him a cripple. He had 
joined the Brunswick army in Saxony, when a beard- 
less lad, shared the heroic campaigns and deeds of 
this corps under the British flag on the Peninsula, 
and afterwards in the Netherlands, where, sorely 
wounded and with the loss of a limb, he was dis- 


2 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


charged as wachtmeister. His comrades of the legion 
gave the handsome, merry Saxon the title of “Prince 
Gustel,” but he modestly called himself Augustus 
Muller. The mother probably numbered fifteen years 
more than her husband and, to our great satisfaction, 
it is not incumbent upon us to give a detailed account 
of “Black Lisette’s ” past. Suffice it to say that she 
served with the legion as a female sutler, faithfully 
nursed her Augustus after he was wounded, had be- 
come his lawful wife, and was now industriously toil- 
ing to defray the expenses of the wretched household 
by sewing, to which she had long been unaccustomed. 

The cradle seemed to have been an item for which 
no calculation had been made in her accounts. At 
any rate the hour of mortal conflict, which gives life 
to a human being, had weakened the weather-beaten, 
strong-limbed woman more than the twenty years of 
warfare, in which she had seen thousands end theirs. 
Her fingers trembled, and her brow was damp with 
perspiration as she now, in the gathering twilight, 
fitted together the bits of kid, which as soon as morn- 
ing dawned, were to be transformed into dainty 
gloves, sighing when from time to time she cast a 
glance at the feeble creature which for three days, 
almost without waking, had breathed faintly by her 
side. 

But this state of affairs in the household seemed 
still more uncomfortable to the crippled young sol- 
dier. He strode up and down the low dusky room 
like an imprisoned stag which is afraid of breaking 
its antlers, then, gasping for breath, threw the little 
window open and rudely shut it again, as he saw 


INTRODUCTION. 


3 


his wife anxiously cover the child to protect it from 
the draught. At last, with a muttered oath, he 
dashed out of the door, through which after a time 
he returned, holding a bottle of wine in his hand, 
and in a much more amiable piood. 

‘‘ Put down that stuff and take a pull, Lisette,” he 
cried, approaching the sick woman; “You’re used 
to it and need it ; poor wife ! ” 

Frau Lisette shook her head thoughtfully, sighed 
and asked in a deep, but evidently weak voice, “ And 
the payment, Augustus ? Gambling again last night ? 
Husband, husband! ” 

“ Well, how long have you thought throwing dice 
and shuffling cards a sin, old girl } ” replied the dis- 
abled soldier, smiling. “ Drink, and don’t make faces. 
Can I cut wood with my stump of an arm } Shall I 
strap a hand organ on my back and play before the 
houses, eh ? It’s bad enough that one who so bravely 
followed the calf’s skin, must now patch miserable 
bits of goat’s skin together. But don’t groan 1 The 
idea of weeping, when we have laughed amid the 
thunder of cannon I One pull at the bottle and every- 
thing will look as cheery as usual. Peace can’t last 
forever. How long will it be before Napoleon re- 
turns, and then — ” 

He understood the sorrowful glance with which the 
ex-sutleress interrupted his words, but after a short 
pause continued in the gayest tone : “ We need but 
one arm to strike, Lisette . I ’ve seen men fire with 
the left hand, and I ’ve kept the right, the man’s fist. 
Only let Napoleon return, have the tents pitched, 
and get a horse under one — bah, who ’ll think of lost 


4 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


arms and sickness then} Put those fiddle-faddles 
away and let us have a talk. Be my brave, merry 
old black Lisette again ! ” 

*^You are right, Augustus, let us talk to each 
other, ” replied his wife, after a pause of firm resolu- 
tion, as she carefully put her sewing materials aside, 
uncorked the bottle, poured out some wine, and after 
drinking a large portion of the contents, returned the 
glass to the soldier. — Stay at home with me to- 
night, husband. We ’ll tell stories as we used to do 
in camp ; but none of the old ones, none of those we 
know by heart, you as well as I.” 

The soldier laughed. Strange, but the very ones 
a man knows by heart are those he likes best to hear 
and tell.” 

‘‘Yes, of course, of course, Augustus, as a general 
thing. Only to-day, by way of a joke, we’ll have 
something extra. A still older husband. Some- 
thing that happened before we joined the army. I 
mean something about the home and relatives we — ” 

She paused and repressed a tone which was very 
unusual to her voice, then casting a glance at the 
child, which lay like a “ poor deserted creature, ” con- 
tinued — 

•‘To be sure, that’s along time ago tome. My 
parents are dead, I had no brothers nor sisters, and as 
for god-fathers or aunts, if they still lived, I should 
hardly recognize them, or to speak more correctly, 
they would n’t wish to know Lisette, who — But you, 
Augustus, you are a boy in comparison with me. How 
long ago is it } Not ten years.” 

“Not nine, Lisette. Hardly eight. It was when 
the duke — ” 


INTRODUCTION. 


5 


“ I know all about the duke, my friend. Eight 
years ! In that time people are not forgotten. If you 
returned home, your family would receive you with 
pleasure, Augustus.” 

Augustus burst into a roar of laughter. “My 
family.?” he said. “The forester, I suppose, from 
whom I ran away .? ” 

“ Well, if not the forester, those who took care of 
you before him.” 

“ The orphans’ foster father, do you mean .? The 
good man was old ; he must have died long ago, 
Lisette.” 

“ But your own father, husband ! ” 

“ Oh ! how stupid, wise Lisette ! When I just 
spoke of the orphans' father. I have never known 
my own father.” 

“ Or your mother — ” 

“ I know of no mother, wife.” 

“No mother .? But an orphan asylum is not an in- 
stitution for foundlings. You must remember some- 
thing before you entered it.” 

“ Before .? Why yes, the old nurse in the forest.” 

“ A nurse .? What was her name, husband .? ” 

“Justine.” 

“ And what else .? ” 

“ I know of nothing else. ” 

“ But you must have had a father. What was he, 
where did he live, Augustus .? ” 

“I don’t know, old interrogation point.” 

His wife was not at all disturbed by this compli- 
mentary epithet. “ Have you no papers .? ” she in- 
quired after reflecting a short time. “ No certificate 
of your baptism, your parents’ death, etc.” 


6 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


“ Did you bring any church testimonials when you 
ran away from service in the night ? ” answered the 
husband in a mocking tone, but as he fancied he 
heard a sigh, added good-naturedly : There, don’t be 
angry, Lisette. Do you want papers ? There is at 
any rate the certificate with which the Herr Provost 
dismissed me from the cloister.” 

“ You have been in a cloister ? Among the monks ? 
It was Catholic I suppose ? ” 

'‘No indeed, old girl. That isn’t the fashion in 
Leipsic. The institution was only called the cloister, 
and the principal the provost from papal time. The 
old paper has been kept, I hardly know how. When- 
ever I was going to throw it away, I saw the good 
old man with his pale face and the tears in his eyes 
when he gave it to me. We called him father, and 
he was like a father to us, so I always put the wisp 
in my pocket again.” 

" Show me the certificate, Augustus,” pleaded the 
wife, as she hastily prepared to strike a match and 
light the lamp on the table before her bed. When 
she had accomplished this, she unfolded the paper 
the soldier drew out of his breast-pocket. The black- 
ened, bloody marks on it were an eloquent -witness 
of the way in which he had spent his early years. 

"Psalm 146TH, Verse qth., — The Lord preserveth 
the stranger, he relieveth the fatherless and widows.” 
Augustus Muller. Confirmed and dismissed from our in- 
stitution April 4th, 1807. 

Cloister Laurentii Ludwig Nordheim 
Leipsic Provost 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 


Frau Lisette read the short contents in a low 
tone, shaking her head. “No date of birth,” she 
)aid thoughtfully, “neither the name, rank, nor resi- 
dence of the parents. Was the cloister intended for 
children born in wedlock, Augustus ” 

“For soldiers’ orphans,” replied the husband 
proudly. “ Only now and then a civilian’s child as a 
make-shift.” 

“ And you have not the most distant recollection 
of any trustee, guardian, or village magistrate who 
took you to the institution ? ” 

“Took me to the institution.? Why, of course, 
Fraulein Hardine took me.” 

The sutleress started up with fresh animation. 

“ Fraulein Hardine ! ” she cried. “ Husband, who 
was Fraulein Hardine .? ” 

“ A woman, tall and dark as you are Lisette,” re- 
plied the soldier, roused by his wife’s zeal. “ If old 
Becker was right, my Frau or Fraulein Mamma.” 

“ And who was old Becker .? ” 

“ The washerwoman of the institution, and a great 
gossip.” 

“ Fraulein Hardine ! A Fraulein, no Mamsell ! 
Then she is of noble birth.” 

“Perhaps so. Her father was a major in the 
Elector’s service.” 

“The name .? ” 

“ I never heard it, or perhaps have forgotten. 
Everybody called the daughter plain Fraulein Har- 
dine.” 

Frau Lisette sat for some time absorbed in silent 
thought, then adopted a very cunning plan. 


8 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


“ Give me your pipe and let me fill it, Gustel,” she 
said gayly ; “ and take another glass of wine, it will 
clear your head. But now tell me for once, in regu- 
lar order, all that you can remember of your child- 
hood. No matter how little it maybe — one can’t 
always tell — and we must talk about somethings isn’t 
that so } ” 

A dry text for the lover of camp stories, in spite 
of the pipe and bottle which were to make him loqua- 
cious. However, he had heard that people must 
humor a woman who has just borne a child, and he 
was really a kind hearted fellow. So while his wife 
took up her goat’s skin again, he related, striding up 
and down the narrow space and puffing his pipe — 
with the exception of a few powerful expressions which 
a refined reader must be spared — the story of his life 
almost word for word as follows : — 

“ As I said before — where, when, and of whom I 
was born, I know not. So far as I can look back, I 
can see an old woman whom I called ‘ nurse ’ and 
who allowed me to suffer no want. It wasn’t in any 
city or village, for I saw no house except the little 
one in which my nurse lived. I had no playmates 
except the lizards and squirrels in the forest behind 
the house, but I vied with them in running and 
climbing all day long. The life just suited me. My 
nurse I might perhaps know again and perhaps not, 
but the house I could still paint. It stood in the 
midst of a thicket ; the tallest pines I have ever seen 
surrounded it, and on the gable was a dog’s head 
carved in stone surmounted with a gilt crown. 

“My nurse’s name was Justine. At least that is 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


what the lady who visited her from time to time 
called her. ‘ From the castle ’ my nurse said, but I 
never saw any castle. This lady was Fraulein Har- 
dine. Whether she was young or old, I cannot say, 
nor even whether she was ill or well disposed toward 
me. But I think she meant well at that time. I 
have never made anything out of her. But I noticed 
her, noticed her so closely that I think that I should 
know her again. There was something about her 
that is not easily forgotten. What^ I cannot say 
myself. 

“One day I sat with Fraulein Hardine in a little 
box, which moved swiftly along. That is, in a 
coach. At first I stared in astonishment when I saw 
the tall trees running past me so quickly. I can 
still see them run, Lisette. But I soon grew weary 
of this, raged, shrieked, and would have jumped out 
of the door and run back to my beloved forest, if 
Fraulein Hardine had not seized me by the ear and 
pinched it till I at last grew tired of howling, 
stretched myself on the seat, and fell asleep. I 
waked repeatedly and began the same noise. But 
Fraulein Hardine always seized me by the ear, and I 
fell asleep again, so I can’t say whether the drive 
lasted hours, days, or weeks, or how I reached the 
end of the journey. 

“ From that time I remained in the orphan asylum, 
where I fared by no means badly. The old provost 
was a noble man ; indeed a father of the orphans, and 
apparently particularly fond of me. There was 
plenty to eat, and not rods enough for us wild boys. 
But I had no laziness ; something drew me back to 


10 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


the forest. Several times I took to my heels, but, of 
course, was caught again, and it was probably for this 
reason that afterwards I was never allowed, like 
many of the old boys, to go into the city if any extra 
errand was to be done.” 

“But Fraulein Hardine ! ” the listener impatiently 
interrupted as the narrater paused. 

“Why, Fraulein Hardine,” continued the latter, 
“Fraulein Hardine, who now and then came to visit 
our provost, but always looked as sour as vinegar 
when I was brought in to her, lectured me because 
I did not like to study, and called me wild stock or 
something of the sort. Once, in her anger, she gave 
me a box on the ear.” 

Frau Lisette started up as if electrified — “ A box 
on the ear ! ” she exclaimed with an expression of the 
greatest satisfaction, “ a box on the ear, Augustus — ” 
“ It certainly was not undeserved, Lisette.” 

“ Chastised you with her own hand ! And must 
she not have been your mother ? ” 

“ Indeed ? So you would rather strike your own 
child than a stranger’s } ” 

The poor mother, somewhat abashed by this home 
question, took up her sewing again — “A young lady 
of noble birth and directly under the eyes of the eccle- 
siastical authority must have possessed some right ” — 
she murmured, but without being heard, for her hus- 
band had already resumed the thread of his story, 
“This much is certain, Lisette, ” said he, “if Frau- 
lein Hardine had patted me affectionately all the days 
of my life, I might have forgotten her. But, as she 
struck me, she will remain fixed in my memory if I 
should live to be a hundred years old. 


INTRODUCTION. 


II 


I had grown to be a sturdy lad, a head taller than 
my comrades, and now felt but one desire. It was 
no longer ‘the forest ’ as before. No, ‘I wanted to 
have a horse under me and become a soldier.’ I had 
seen troops for the first time in my life. Prussians 
and natives of the country had passed the asylum. 
Of course it was during the rapid movements of the 
soldiery, when the Austrians were to be reinforced. 
But the Austrians were left in the lurch and my 
Prussians retired. The next autumn, however, they 
returned. Recruits to defeat Napoleon, who was al- 
ready on the march, it was said. Then I tingled 
from head to foot ! But I had seen enough to know 
they would not take a half grown orphan lad in the 
army. So I only played soldier, and it was a pleasure 
to see how I drilled the other boys. I was the largest 
and therefore of course our Elector, whom I always 
imagined was a big, thick-set fellow. The larger 
number, but the smallest in size, were the French, 
and a dwarf was their Napoleon. Well, I drubbed 
him, as two years ago Marshal Forward and our Iron 
Duke drubbed the real Napoleon.” 

“But Fraulein Hardine .J* ” asked the eager listener, 
and the ex-wachtmeister “Have patience, 

she ’ll come directly.” 

“ It was on the 14th of October — the date of such 
a day of misery is not easily forgotten, Lisette — We 
were ranged in order in a cross passage to get our 
breakfasts, when the provost came to us with his hat 
and cane, trembling from head to foot and as white as 
the wall. ‘ The first blood has flowed, ’ he said in an 
unsteady voice, ‘precious blood, heroes’ blood! You 


12 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


are soldiers’ sons, my children. Hasten to the for- 
est, gather the last oak leaves and make a garland 
for the grave of a brave gentleman, who has been the 
first to fall in fighting for his native land.’ Then ap- 
proaching me, he added in a low tone: ‘Fraulein 
Hardine’s father was brought to his house dead yes- 
terday. I shall expect you there with the oak wreath, 
Augustus. The washerwoman Becker — she also did 
the errands in the city — will go with you and show 
you the way.’ With these words he left me. The 
youngsters ran off to the forest. I climbed the trees 
and threw down the branches, which were gathered 
and fastened into a faggot by those beneath. There 
was enough for a cow to have feasted on till she was 
tired, Lisette. Scarcely an hour after I was trotting 
along beside old Becker on the way to the city.” 

“ If the woman was going to the city at any rate, ” 
Frau Lisette eagerly interrupted, “why was it neces- 
sary for you to accompany her, Augustus ? Why 
should j/ou have carried the garland to Fraulein 
Hardine You, rather than any one else.^ Hus- 
band, husband, that was a clue.” 

“You are taking up the old gossip of the institu- 
tion, Lisette, ” replied the crippled soldier, who had 
gradually become very much excited by his story. 
“ But listen. On the way I got very angry with the 
stupid woman. She said a battle had been fought in 
the Oberland, the very one in which Fraulein 
Hardine’s father had fallen, and the French had won 
the victory. That I could not and would not believe, 
abused her for a shameful slanderer, and would have 
forced her to be silent if she, well, if she had not been 


INTRODUCTION. 


13 


a woman and an old woman into the bargain. She, 
however, stuck fast to her first statement and her 
fear of the ‘terrible Bohnebart.’ She trembled like a 
withered leaf whenever his name crossed her lips. 
She acted as if ‘ Bohnebart ’ had come into the coun- 
try expressly to maltreat old Becker. 

“ So we reached the city in a violent rage. I had 
never seen one before and imagined a city to be 
something very different. Only the great castle, as 
it gradually loomed through the mist, pleased me. ‘ I 
should like to live there, ’ said I, and old Becker 
smiled mysteriously. ‘Well, who knows whether you 
will not lodge in a prince’s castle some day, Gustel. 
Bohnebart was only a poor boy like you, and yet he 
has become an emperor.’ — ‘And such a dwarf too, ’ 
I added contemptuously. 

“Just at that moment we reached the market place- 
The old woman pointed to a house, saying: ‘The 
major’s family live there.’ Though I only saw that 
dwelling once and have since seen thousands of others, 
I could still point it out exactly. It looked like a 
pug-nosed face on which some one had tied a tall 
night cap. Becker sat down on a bench beside the 
door to wait for me, and I went in with my wreath. 

“ The provost came to meet me, took me by the 
hand, and led me into a room on the right. The 
windows were darkened and I was obliged to become 
accustomed to the dim light, but nevertheless dis- 
tinguished some person who had been standing beside 
the door with outstretched arms, and at a sign from 
the old man hastily glided into the chimney corner. 
I pricked up my ears ; I fancied I heard some one 
groaning or sobbing.” 


/ 


14 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

^‘Fraulein Hardine ! ” cried Frau Lisettein breath- 
less suspense. But the narrator answered : 

“ No, no ! Fraulein Hardine wasn’t one of the sort 
that sobs and groans. S/ie was standing erect and 
grave, clothed in black from head to foot, in the room 
containing the major’s body, to which the provost in- 
stantly led me. This was the first dead person I had 
ever seen, and I can’t tell you, Lisette, how much I 
liked him ; far better than any living man. He lay 
as if asleep, but his right hand was fiercely clenched ; 
they had been obliged to use force to remove the 
sabre which, with the tall Hungarian cap, was now 
lying by his side. Then the ribbon fastening his 
order, the blue Hussar coat trimmed with silver lace, 
and the little scorched spot, through which the bullet 
had pierced his heart. I touched each separate arti- 
cle, I could not grow weary of gazing at him, put my 
finger into the wound to see if the bullet could be 
felt, raised one cold hand after the other, and should 
have been unable to leave the spot if the provost had 
not dragged me back to the other room by force. 

‘‘There he made a solemn harangue, of which, how- 
ever, I understood and noticed nothing, except that 
he was praising the dead man, who had died like a 
hero for his native land — ‘ I, too, will die for our 
native land’ I burst forth, and at the words Fraulein 
Hardine, who unnoticed by me had sat down by the 
window, hastily came forward and pressed my hand, 
as if to say : — ‘ Right, boy, be firm in that resolve ! ’ — 
But she did not utter a word that morning, and I took 
no further notice of her, but gazed intently at the 
chimney corner ; for, as I spoke, a cry which pierced 


INTRODUCTION. 


IS 


my heart like a knife, came from the spot. But I 
could perceive nothing except a little white crouch- 
ing figure, whose face was concealed by a handker- 
chief. The provost, moreover, now stepped directly 
between me and the chimney corner, so when I tried 
to peer behind the stove, I could see nothing but the 
good man’s black coat and white wig. 

“‘You are now almost a grown man, Augustus, ’ 
he continued turning to me. ‘ Next Easter you will 
be confirmed and must decide upon some calling in 
life. What will you become, my son ’ 

“A soldier ! ” I cried without an instant’s hesitation. 
And again a sound, this time like a wail, issued from 
the chimney corner.” 

“ It must have been Fraulein Hardine’s mother,” 
cried Frau Lisette in breathless suspense. But her 
husband replied : 

“ I don’t even know whether Fraulein Hardine 
had a mother at that time. But this I do know, it 
was not the voice of an old woman that was wailing 
behind the stove. It sounded far more like a little 
sorrowful child. But listen, Lisette. 

“ ‘ Y oil are still too young to be a soldier, Augustus,’ 
said the provost. ‘ Besides, the fate of our native 
land must be decided. Would you fight for Napo- 
leon, like the Germans in the kingdoms outside } ’ 
“No,” I answered “always against him.” And for 
the second time Frauline Hardine silently pressed 
my hand. 

“‘The time may come, my son,’ replied the pro- 
vost. ‘ At present we m ust wait. If we have peace and 
everything remains the same as of old, you must never 


l6 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

think of being a soldier. You are not in a position 
to become an officer, and with your disposition you 
could not endure the life of a private. They still 
run the gauntlet. Would you like to be flogged, 
Augustus } ’ My only reply was to clench my fist. 
The old man continued : 

“ ‘ You have always longed to return to the forest. 
How would it suit you to be a huntsman, my son ’ — 
“Very well, if I can’t be a soldier. I’ll become a 
huntsman and learn to shoot,” I replied. 

“I have no recollection of anything else the pro- 
vost said. I was thinking of the dead major and 
peeping at the weeping child in the chimney corner. 
This almost bewildered me, and I did not know what 
had happened when I suddenly felt some one seize 
my arm and push me towards the door. It was the 
provost of course. He had already raised the latch 
and I was standing on the threshold, when I heard 
something behind me like the fluttering of a bird. 
I hastily turned and saw — well, what did I really 
see } It was only one glance from the light entry 
into the dusky room. I saw a figure with out- 
stretched arms, a figure small and dainty as a child, 
with a white face and golden curls, looking in contrast 
to the tall, dark Hardine, who stood behind her, like 
a tiny white gold-edged cloud, when night has already 
closed in. Everything swam before my eyes as if I 
were dizzy. Then the provost thrust me across the 
threshold, the door closed, and I only heard a piercing 
shriek from within. 

“ The next instant I was standing outside the door 
beside the old woman. In the open air the dizziness 


INTRODUCTION. 


17 

instantly passed away, I again saw and heard as 
quickly as usual, and almost thought the whole af- 
fair — not the dead major, but the cloud-child ■ — had 
been only an apparition. 

''During the last hour the streets had become 
crowded with people, who buzzed up and dowp like a 
swarm of frightened bees, and my old woman was 
as full as a sponge of all the stories she had swal- 
lowed while sitting on the bench. The stories were 
true, more’s the pity. The allied armies had been 
surprised at two points, and two scurvy battles lost. 
But they had just been fought. The city was three 
miles away from the nearest battlefield, how could 
people so boldly declare the wretched result ? By 
scent, they say, as domestic cattle flee before the ap- 
proaching storm. But why did not I have the scent ? 
Why did you never tremble at the first cannon shot, 
Lisette ? Because you were a man, Lisette, and 
those men old women like Becker, cowards who 
deserve nothing better than to crouch under Napo- 
leon’s lash,, until at last the old Berserker fury burst 
forth. 

" At every step the old woman peered around to 
see if the cruel Bohnebart was not already at her 
heels. But, with all her terror, curiosity to learn 
what I had seen at the major’s was uppermost, and 
before we were out of the city gates, she had squeezed 
me like a citron and to every drop added her own 
mustard. I only wanted to know one thing — the 
name of the little girl whose shriek still rang in my 
ears. But just this one thing the old wisdom could 
not tell me — An acquaintance in the city — she 


8 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


thought, for the major had no relatives in this part 
of the country. ' But why did she sigh and weep so 
piteously ’ I asked, and thereby set the old woman 
in the right track. 

“ ‘Who does not weep and wail now-a-days, Gustel 
she replied. ‘Who does not in imagination see his own 
relatives killed or maimed, imprisoned or flying from 
the enemy.-^ Bohnebart and his head-chopping machine 
can never be calculated upon. Yes, these times are 
as wild as those under the Swedish king or old Fritz 
himself. I shouldn’t wonder, Gustel, if when we got 
home, we found the French had been before us and 
the asylum was a heap of ashes, while teachers and 
scholars had fled like sheep when a wolf gets among 
the flock. And that is why, Gustel, I will tell you 
now what I may not be able to reveal the next 
hour. Something which has never entered the head 
of anybody except old Becker. But when some day 
it is known to all the world, you must remember : 
‘ Old Becker predicted it ’ and show yourself grateful 
to the poor old woman, that is if she has been able to 
save the miserable remnant of her life from the cruel 
Bohnebart. 

“ While saying these words she peeped timidly in 
every direction, then stood on tiptoe and putting her 
mouth to my ear, whispered : 

“ ‘Augustus, have you never thought what Fraulein 
Hardine really is to you ? ’ I laughingly shook my 
head. 

“ ‘And have you no presentiment who the man was, 
to whose dead body you have been taken to-day ? ’ 
“A major,” said I — ‘A major of course,’ replied the 


INTRODUCTION. 


19 


old woman angrily, 'a major in the Elector’s service, 
but I mean what he was to you, Augustus.’ I shook 
my head again. 

‘‘'Then learn now, Augustus,’ said Becker as 
solemnly as the witch in the old testament — ‘ the 
man was your grandfather, for Fraulein Hardine is 
your mother.’ 

“To tell the truth, at that time I was as innocent 
in such matters as a new born lamb. The lonely 
orphan asylum had a right to its title of cloister ; 
none of us had relatives whom we visited and every- 
thing that wore an apron, unless lame and grey like 
Becker, was kept as far away from the institution as 
tinder. The teachers were unmarried tyros, fresh 
from college, the provost was a widower. So we knew 
nothing of kitchen tales and gossip, and I had no idea 
how injurious to Fraulein Hardine’s fair fame was the 
rumor that had been whispered into my ear. I 
should, however, have prayed for any one as a mother 
rather than for her, if I had ever longed for father or 
mother. But I wanted freedom, the forest, or permis- 
sion to go out into the world and nothing more. Yet 
I could have liked a grandfather who had fallen on the 
battle field, and for his sake would have accepted the 
stern Fraulein Hardine for a mother. So for a 
moment I pricked up my ears. 

“But the major belonged to a noble family, and I 
was called plain Muller. The provost had told me, 
only an hour before, that I could only be a private 
soldier on account of my position in the world. This 
thought occurred to me at the right time, and with- 
out grieving much about it, I told the old witch how 
ridiculous her prediction was. 


20 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


But she stuck fast to what she had said and be- 
came still more positive. 'What a stupid fellow 
you are, Gustel,’ — she said angrily, putting her 
arms akimbo. 'As if a noble stock could not put 
forth a stray shoot ! As if, when people did not want 
a child’s origin discovered, they couldn’t enter it in 
the register as a Muller or for aught I care a Becker. 
Especially when a pastor is engaged in the same 
game. But what^ I ask you, is our provost ? An 
old friend of Fraulein Hardine. Who secretly smug- 
gled you into the orphan asylum at night ? Fraulein 
Hardine. Are you a soldier’s son like the others ? 
Does anybody know who your father was ? Do you 
look as if you came of a common family.? You look 
like a young nobleman, Augustus, like a prince — ’ 

"Yes, indeed, that’s as true as gospel, like a prince !’ 
Frau Lisette interrupted, while a flush of pride suf- 
fused her emaciated face — 'You were called a prince. 
Prince Gustel, by the whole legion ! ” 

Prince Gustel smiled, by no means displeased at 
the flattering recollection, but faithfully held fast to 
the thread of his story. 

" ' Who procured you a place at half price .? ’ con- 
tinued the old woman. ' A mother, who is a widow .? 
A guardian, a counsellor, a magistrate .? Not at all, 
Fraulein Hardine. Who brings the provost every six 
months the money to pay for your support .? Who 
visits you in the cloister.? Who scolds you.? No 
one but Fraulein Hardine. And last of all : What 
did the dead major want of a wreath from the orphan 
asylum, unless it contained one of his own blood, who 
ought to pay him the last honors .? Why should the 


INTRODUCTION. 


21 


provost have lectured you in the house of mourning^ 
if you were not a quasi member ot the family ? One 
who does not plainly see this connection has no sense 
at all. Fraulein Hardine is your mother, that’s as 
certain as the amen in the gospel. 

^‘The old woman paused, she was fairly out of 
breath and wanted to clear her throat. I did not say 
a word, for I was really indifferent to the whole affair. 
After a while Becker began again with new energy : 

‘I wish to say nothing against Fraulein Hardine’s 
character, Augustus. A lady who belongs to such an 
aristocratic family and with such an inheritance in 
prospect, of course not, of course not ! To be sure 
Fraulein Hardine is as poor as a church mouse now, 
but the old black spectre, her aunt, can’t bury trea- 
sures in her gold tower forever. And if she has sold 
herself to the Evil One ten times over, our Lord 
keeps him in check and the worst miser has never 
lived more than a hundred years. There’s not an- 
other one in the whole country like our Fraulein 
Hardine. I mean nothing against her character, 
Gustel, no indeed, nothing of the sort ! But there’s 
some secret about it ; I’ll stake my life on that. 
Some princely marriage, which does not give the 
wife the husband’s position or the children their 
father’s name, such as the miserly old lady of the 
castle entered into in her time ; or something of 
that kind, which people like us don’t understand. 
Why does Fraulein Hardine refuse the best offers.? 
Does a woman who could have a suitor for every 
finger voluntarily become an old maid .? Why, I ask, 
except because she secretly has some one who is 


22 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


watching the countess’ property with her. But let 
her once be firmly seated in the gold tower, and the 
concealed prince will appear. And then you’ll be a 
young nobleman, Augustus, and a rich millionaire, 
then you’ll remember poor old Becker, who first gave 
you a hint.’ ” 

The speaker paused. ^‘Go on, go on, husband,” 
cried Frau Lisette in breathless suspense. ‘^What 
else, what else !” 

‘^What else — nothing!” replied the soldier laugh- 
ing. “The story is ended.” 

“Ended.?” 

“ Ended, I tell you. While engaged in this gossip, 
we had reached the door of the cloister. I made a 
face at my old woman, for the house had not been 
transformed into a heap of ashes nor its inmates 
scattered to the four winds. But how frightened old 
Becker was, when she saw how I took her wisdom. 
She trembled like a wet poodle, and her teeth — no 
they didn’t chatter, for she had no teeth — but her 
chin shook. 

“For God’s sake, Gustel, keep the secret,” she 
whimpered, “don’t deprive a poor old widow of her 
hard earned bit of bread.” 

“ I laughed heartily and ran into the gate, behind 
which my comrades were frolicking as merrily as us- 
ual. I hastily fought a battle with them, which had 
a totally different result from the one that was ended 
that self same hour. All the ghosts and gossip of 
the morning were completely blown away. 

“The following Spring the provost took me to the 
forester, from whom two years after I ran away, 


INTRODUCTION. 


23 


when the duke camped in our neighborhood. But 
never since that time have I seen nor heard of 
Fraulein Hardine, and to-day, I believe, is the first 
time I have thought of her again.” 

The poor ex-sutleress was bitterly disappointed by 
this sudden conclusion. She silently took up her 
work, which in the eagerness of listening had fallen 
into her lap, and stitched a long time with feverish 
haste, until she had thought of a new plan, and 
obtained sufficient control over her voice to speak in 
the cheerful tones by which she hoped to induce her 
husband to be still more complaisant. 

“ I thank you, Augustus,” she said at last, holding 
out her hand to him. “You know how to tell a story. 
And your history will always be something for our 
poor little baby, when I am no longer able to provide 
for her, I mean if Napoleon should unexpectedly re- 
turn some day ! And so, my friend, let us make an 
end of the whole matter to-day. You write a capital 
hand, have sent in many a report, and it surely re- 
quires only 07te hand to guide a pen as well as a 
sword. So write down the whole story, while it is 
fresh in your memory. That 2 iXidi the certificate from 
the orphan asylum will be the family papers Prince 
Gustel will leave his princess, if some day we suddenly 
leave this world.” 

While uttering these words she had carefully 
smoothed two of the sheets of paper in which she 
wrapped her gloves, and even brought out the writ- 
ing materials with which she made out her bills. After 
sharpening the pen and stirring the ink, she "began to 
fill her husband’s pipe again and did not forget to 
pour the remainder of the wine into the glass. 


24 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


Friend Augustus performed his due share of grum- 
bling, but at last yielded to the sick woman’s strange 
fancy. 

“ How much trouble such a little creature makes,” 
he said, as he seated himself at his wife’s work table. 

Soon the pen dashed over the paper with free, bold 
strokes, and the story we have just heard from his 
own lips appeared in black and white. 

Midnight had passed when he placed the last sheet 
on his wife’s bed. She dried it with her hot breath, 
laid it with the certificate of confirmation in the 
lowest drawer of her work table, and put out the 
light. ‘‘Augustus,” said she, as her husband re- 
moved his clothes and threw himself on the heap of 
straw at the foot of the bed, “ Augustus, we will have 
our little one christened Hardine.” 

“I should have preferred Lisette,” replied the 
father, yawning. “ But let it be Hardine, for aught 
I care.” 

And the little girl was christened Hardine. 

* * * ^ ^ * * * * 

Years elapsed and Fraulein Hardine’s name was 
never mentioned by either of the pair. Nearly six 
years, during which the unknown lady’s little name- 
sake wearily struggled to its feet, and of which she 
retained no recollection except that she was never 
hungry and often cold. 

True the wachtmeister of the legion no longer 
waited for the return of Napoleon, since the latter 
was sleeping quietly and peacefully in his island 
grave, but he still expected some other respectable 
enemy, against whom a brave soldier might once 


INTRODUCTION. 


25 


more lift the sword. To be sure he rarely awaited 
him beside the feebly flickering hearth fire, which 
since the arrival of the cradle had not become more 
comfortable to him. He clung to the lively scenes 
which reminded him of the sutler’s tent, where cards 
and dice fall, the beer circulates, and some merry 
soldier’s jest not infrequently pays the reckoning. 

But in the dull, narrow room at home his elderly 
wife sat sighing and stitching in such constant toil 
and anxiety for her child, that she did not give her- 
self leisure for a single loving look. Week after 
week her cheeks grew more hollow, her fingers more 
tremulous, her breath shorter, but she still sighed 
and stitched all day and half the night. 

At last the hour arrived in which all stitching and 
sighing comes to an end, and the careless tippler 
was summoned from the tavern to a death bed. 
Augustus Muller in his young days had seen thou- 
sands of men die, but never a woman ; he had never 
thought before that death was a business which con- 
cerned women also, even such brave women as his 
Lisette had been. Now at the the unexpected sight he 
raved and shrieked, tore his hair, and beat his breast. 

But the worthy ex-sutleress understood the gloomy 
comrade, whose acquaintance she had made among 
men. She had seen him slowly creeping nearer and 
looked him fearlessly in the face when he now stood 
close by her side. Did it grieve her to part from the 
creature that nature had placed in her arms so late ? 
It did not seem so, yet she fullfilled the duty of pro- 
viding for its support with her latest breath. 

Don’t be a fool, Augustus, ” she said to her hus- 


26 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


band who, completely overcome by grief, had thrown 
himself down beside the bed — “ There must be an 
end of everything some day. Sit down here on the 
side of the bed, pay attention, and do what I tell you.’' 

As she said these words she placed the carefully 
treasured family papers in her husband’s hand, and 
then continued in clear, impressive tones : — 

“ Keep these sheets as the only inheritance you 
can leave your child. I have been thinking of this 
matter night and day for six years, and now die in the 
firm conviction that FrMein Hardine was your 
mother. Do what you choose, so far as you yourself 
are concerned. You are a man. But seek her out 
and take her the child, for whom you cannot provide. 
Sell my furniture ; the proceeds will pay the traveling 
expenses. I have taken care of our marriage certifi- 
cate and that of the child’s baptism. Do not forget 
the certificate of my death. Have your certificate of 
confirmation attested in the cloister, find out Fraulein 
Hardine’s family name in the city, and also what has 
become of her. If she is still alive — whether rich, 
or poor as before — she must be an old woman now, 
and will be ashamed of the sin of disowning her own 
flesh and blood. If she is dead, relatives can prob- 
ably be found. Perhaps the provost is still alive, or 
the forester. In short, you will be in your home 
and your child must and will find a support, if you do 
your duty. But let it be soon, husband, for the path 
you have taken is leading you swiftly downward. 
Carry the child to Fraulein Hardine. Give me your 
hand upon it, Augustus, the right hand that wields 
the sword.” 


INTRODUCTION. 


27 


Sobbing bitterly he held out his hand, which she 
cordially pressed. “ Mother-Hardine ; ” she faltered, 
then turned on her side, drew her handkerchief over 
her eyes, and expired. 

The crippled soldier — to be faithful to our former 
comparison — the crippled soldier raged like a 
wounded stag. He felt his old wounds smart more 
painfully than in the days when black Lisette had 
bandaged them up on the battle-field, and would not 
stir a step from the dark room so long as it contained 
her body. 

But now the earth covered her. He had not been 
able to pay her the last honors with song and music, 
but he was accustomed to follow a brave comrade to 
the grave with a funeral march and return home to 
some merry tune. In the evening he sat in the tav- 
ern from which he had been summoned to the death- 
bed three days before. The beer circulated, the dice 
rolled as usual. The wife and mother had disap- 
peared, and soon the merry ex-sutleress was only a 
prominent figure in the scenes which unrolled before 
his eyes under the banner of the Black or Iron Duke. 

Once more years elapsed, of which little Hardine 
retained no recollection except that she was often 
hungry and always cold. A shy, trembling, sad little 
creature, she glided in the morning out of the cold 
room which constantly became more and more empty, 
and sat lonely and silent before the door until some 
compassionate neighbor gave her a bit of bread or 
led her into her own warm room. Her father she 
rarely saw. When he returned home late at night, 
she was already asleep, and when he departed early 


28 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


in the morning she still slept. The man’s path led 
constantly downward, as his dying wife had predicted 
— from the tavern to the gin shop, from the circle of 
beer drinking citizens to a crowd of rough fellows. 
His curly hair grew bristly, red spots appeared on his 
bloated cheeks, the veins beside the scars on his fore- 
head swelled, and a wild fire burned in his large blue 
eyes when he shouted for the horse he was to mount, 
the sword with which he wanted to cut down the still 
expected enemy. The old soldier’s heart throbbed 
as before, but Prince Gustel had perished, and the 
man had never felt any fatherly love. The promise 
he had given his dying wife was the same as for- 
gotten. 

Fortunately for him the day came when the last 
piece of furniture, the last pillow from Frau Lisette’s 
bridal store was pawned, when the landlord demanded 
his rent, and the keeper of the gin shop his reckon- 
ing, and the homeless man and his child were 
threatened with being driven across the frontier. 
Necessity required a resolution, and necessity also 
gave the strength to keep it. 

It was again a time when a cry of vengeance 
against a sworn enemy rang through the world — the 
time of the Greek rebellion, in which many a brave 
foreigner sacrificed his life, although no Christian 
government lent its aid. The sword of Vittoria and 
Waterloo quivered in the hand of our veteran. 
“Come, Hardine, ” he said one morning in the spring 
of 1825, “I ’ll take you to P'raiilein Hardine and then 
go fight the Turks.” And, leading his child by the 
hand and carrying in his pocket the “ family papers ” 


INTRODUCTION. 29 

and not much more he passed through the gate of the 
little city in the Netherlands. 

To be sure his road lay far from the Meuse into 
the district of the Elbe ; his purse was empty, his 
breath and strength were feeble. The old neighbors 
and fellow tipplers shook their heads and said this 
traveler would neither fight against Ali Pacha nor 
reach his home, but end his days on the high- 
way. Indeed months elapsed before he neared the 
goal of his journey. But it was summer time, the 
road lay directly through a rich native country, and 
the cross of honor, the powder-blackened, bullet- 
pierced cloak, the arm mutilated at Waterloo, were 
warm mediators for the poor soldier and his pale- 
faced child. There was many a carter or boatman 
who carried both a portion of the way for a God bless 
you, many an inn keeper who did not charge for the 
lodging, and many a hand that extended money or 
provisions unasked. If they were sometimes obliged 
to spend the night in the open air, it was an old habit 
to the soldier of the legion — the hours of darkness 
were short, and he woke feeling far more vigorous 
than he had done for years in the close room after a 
night’s debauch. 

All things considered, this time of wayfaring was not 
the worst in Augustus Muller’s life. He would have 
liked to walk still farther, nay all his days if the war 
with the Turks had not had a still more powerful at- 
traction. If his little companion cowered in her rags 
under a sudden shower of rain, or with sore feet sat 
silently by the road side, he had a spell which always 
gave her fresh strength. Her father only needed to 


30 


THfe LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


say ‘‘Fraulein Hardine ! On to Fraulein Hardine, ” 
or “we shall soon get to Fraulein Hardine, ” and the 
little one dragged herself on till they found a shelter. 
Fraulein Hardine’s name was all she had noticed or 
softly repeated during the long journey. Perhaps 
some echo of the mother’s sighs and consolations had 
lingered in the child’s heart. 

It is said that failing eyes see clearly, and there is 
certainly something startling in the confidence with 
which statements, whether relating to this world or 
the next, are made on the death-bed. Even Augustus 
Muller had been deceived for a moment by the belief 
his wife had cherished for years, and with which she 
had consoled herself in her last hours. But in the 
depths of his heart, now as well as before, he had 
never thought Fraulein Hardine a blood relation, and 
set out on his way home with no intention of claim- 
ing the rights of a son. He hoped to obtain a pro- 
vision for his motherless child from the lady, who 
for some reason had watched over his own orphaned 
childhood. If in the course of time she had obtained 
luxury and wealth — an idea which his cheerful dis- 
position readily adopted — and would moreover give 
him a horse and uniform for his Turkish campaign, 
he would be all the more grateful. So much or so 
little was what he had in his mind, when he said to 
his exhausted child : “ We are going to Fraulein 
Hardine ! ” 

Midsummer had arrived, when one morning he 
paused before a lonely old building, in a highly culti- 
vated valley, and exclaiming joyously : “ the cloister !” 
darted through the open gate. He passed through 


INTRODUCTION. 


31 


the courtyard, the corridor, the garden, the school- 
room, the provost’s house, he recognized every nook 
and corner — the play ground where the boys were 
frolicking as they used to do in the old days; the 
well at which they still filled their cups ; the pewter 
dishes that covered the tables ; the wood-shed in 
which troublesome fellows of his stamp were shut up 
for punishment. But he knew none of the people, 
old and young, who crowded curiously around the 
excited stranger. He asked for Ludwig Nordheim, 
the provost and director ; he had been dead and for- 
gotten many years. He asked for old Becker. No 
one had ever heard of an old Becker. No one recol- 
lected any of the former teachers and fellow pupils, 
whose names he could remember, The Prussians, 
who had taken charge of this part of the country, had 
put strangers who knew nothing of the neighborhood 
in the old places. He would have been ashamed 
even to mention F'rMein Hardine. 

Greatly disappointed, he was about to continue his 
journey, when he thought of the certificate, an at- 
testation of which he had promised his Lisette to 
secure. Wise Lisette ! The name, date, verse from 
the Bible, and handwriting agreed with that in the 
school register, the new director could confidently 
add his fiat, and the poor vagrant obtained a legiti- 
mation which made his travels far easier. Now, too, 
there was no lack of hospitable entertainment, since 
the ex-pupil’s scars and cross of honor added to the 
fame of an institution for soldiers' orphans. The 
grey, quiet cloister wall once more resounded with 
bold pranks and merry tales, adventurous expeditions 


32 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

over land and sea, and stories of the Black Duke and 
Black Lisette. The Frau Directorin set forth all 
that the kitchen and cellar contained, the provost 
made a collection among the employees and teachers 
for the invalid hero. Refreshed, loaded with gifts, 
and happy as a king, Augustus Muller left the walls, 
within which twenty years before he had so unwill- 
ingly remained. 

He now turned towards the city, and the sun was 
setting as he saw the castle, glittering in its rays, 
rising above the houses in the valley. He came out 
of the long, narrow street into the market place, and 
his first glance fell upon the house, which still bore 
a towering roof on a low foundation. The pug-nosed 
face with the high night-cap ! “ Here, here ! ” he 

shouted to his little girl, here is where Fraulein 
Hardine lives ! ” 

He passed through the door, and entered the room 
on the right. It had been transformed into a tailor’s 
shop. The deep chimney corner — to which the 
man’s first glance was turned — had disappeared, to- 
gether with the huge stove of Dutch tiles. In the 
adjoining apartment, the spot where the major’s 
coffin had stood was now occupied by a cradle. Ges- 
tures of alarm and angry words greeted the intruder, 
who was taken for a drunkard or madman. 

Meantime the neighbors, who were sitting before 
their doors enjoying the twilight, had noticed the 
stranger’s singular conduct. The noise attracted 
children from their play, maid servants from the 
wells ; a crowd collected before the door. The women 
approached the emaciated little girl, who had cowered 


INTRODUCTION. 


33 


wearily down beside it. “ What is your name, child ? ” 
asked a neighbor. 

“ Hardine,” murmured the little one faintly. 

“ Is the man your father ^ ” 

The child nodded. 

‘‘ What is his name 
She shook her head. 

What does he want } Whom is he looking for 
in this house .? ” 

“Fraulein Hardine.” 

^^Fraulein Hardine!” The neighbors put their 
heads together at the name. But when the father, 
followed by the tailor’s family, the journeymen, and 
apprentices, now came out of the house and repeated 
the same name, a bustle arose, a confusion of ques- 
tions and answers, from which at last the following 
information was obtained. 

The older inhabitants of the little city had really 
known a young lady called Hardine, the only person 
in the place who had ever borne that name. Fraulein 
Hardine was born and grew up in this house, the 
body of her father, who had fallen in the battle of 
Saalfeld, was buried in the city cemetery, and his 
daughter had had a monument erected to his memory, 
which was considered one of the greatest curiosities 
of the place. The name of Fraulein Hardine had a 
proud sound in her native city. The magistrates 
were reflecting upon the feasibility of making her an 
honorary citizen of the place, in return for which dis- 
tinction they confidently expected a legacy to found 
some institution, as the much praised lady, the 
richest land owner in the province, had no legal heirs. 


34 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


and had attained an age when people usually set 
their houses in order. That Fraulein Hardine should 
ever have provided for a stranger’s child — of course 
there was no suggestion that it was her own — in an 
orphan asylum, did not harmonize in the least with 
their recollections or ideas of her. Fraulein Hardine 
bore the reputation of being a noble and prudent 
lady, but not a good Samaritan. 

Augustus Muller’s memory, however, was too clear 
to permit a doubt that such a case was possible, and 
moreover the scars and decorations of their former 
fellow citizen’s protege were a strong recommenda- 
tion, so every one was ready to give him a hospitable 
reception in her native city. Little Hardine, after 
having had plenty to eat, slept more sweetly than she 
had ever done throughout the whole journey In the 
little bed the tailor’s wife had made up beside the 
cradle. But Father Muller had no idea of going to 
bed ; he caroused all through the short summer night 
at the tavern keeper’s table, and paid the generous 
public with the choicest humor of his Spanish recol- 
lections and the perils he expected to encounter in 
his Turkish campaign. Such a brave countryman, 
who had already travelled about the world so much, 
and expected to go still farther, a cripple, who in 
spite of his poverty could tell such merry tales, was 
not allowed to leave the birthplace of their chosen 
honorary citizen without a considerable sum of money. 
So the day of rest in Fraulein Hardine’s native city 
ended as a day of joy and harvest for the orphan boy, 
who had once had Fraulein Hardine’s protection. 

Things had a very promising aspect when, with 


iNTRODUCTIOl^. 


35 


well filled pockets, he went to the neighboring house 
for his little girl, pressed in token of gratitude and 
farewell, the hands of the nearest bystanders, and 
— now for the first time remembered that he had 
forgotten to ask the name and residence of the lady 
whose benefits he had enjoyed and expected to claim 
again ! It was possible that in his intoxication of joy 
he had heard both yesterday without heeding them, 
but no matter ! He did not know the name of “ von 
Reckenburg, ” or that of the family seat, the richest 
estate in the country, the pride of the whole province ! 
Who could describe the angry surprise of our gener- 
ous citizens ! Was this man with his honest face, 
his orders and scars, his jests and stories, his appeal 
to Fraulein Hardine, a hot headed adventurer, who 
had taken advantage of their credulity to fill his 
pouch ? It was weeks before our worthy citizens 
calmed down, but only to fall from one surprise into 
another. 

Meantime Augustus Muller proceeded on his way 
very cheerfully. She was called Fraulein von Reck* 
enburg, she lived scarcely twelve miles away at Castle 
Reckenburg, and every child could show him the 
way. He could pay his expenses on the road, and 
had time to rest and drink when he chose, and he 
chose to stop and drink at a great many places. So 
it was a week before he reached the stream on whose 
opposite bank the Reckenburg estate began. 

But the nearer he approached the goal of his jour- 
ney, the more attractive became the information he 
received about the lady of Castle Reckenburg. Of 
course he could only question common people, whom 


36 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


he saw at inns or happened to meet on the road, 
farmers, foresters, cattle dealers, etc., but they all 
spoke of Fraulein von Reckenburg with the greatest 
respect, not only as a very rich woman, but one as 
wise and resolute as a man, whose agricultural regu- 
lations were a pattern to the whole neighborhood. 
Equally unanimous were the suppositions about the 
disposal of the great property after the lady’s death. 
Many pitied the lonely woman, others envied in 
anticipation the laughing heirs. 

Our crippled soldier, who was ignorant both of the 
country and agriculture, of course understood none 
of these details. But strangely enough the more he 
heard of the wealth of the Reckenburg estate, the 
more he flattered his mind with hopes and wishes of 
which hitherto he had not entertained a thought. 
During his poverty and hopelessness, he had laughed 
at the suppositions first of the old cloister gossip and 
afterward of his own wife. Now, while wandering 
through a peaceful, thriving country, with a few 
thalers in his pocket, something warm in his stomach, 
and a mug always ready filled to quench his thirst, 
in short in a position far more comfortable than any 
he had ever known, he willingly yielded to the doubt 
whether the two women, and especially his wise 
Lisette on her death-bed, had not after all formed a 
more correct opinion of his relation to Fraulein 
Hardine. than the simple boy and frivolous man. 

He repeatedly read his written recollections, and 
even allowed strangers to cast a glance at them, with- 
out considering what germs of suspicion he was sow- 
ing. True, even now he did not firmly believe in his 


INTRODUCTION. 


37 


rights as a son, but he eagerly desired them, and from 
wishing to claiming, as we know, is but a step. The 
asylum for his child and an equipment for his Turk- 
ish campaign no longer satisfied him ; above all he 
was no longer content to obtain these things as a 
favor. At every mile he travelled his castle in the 
air rose higher, and when his little girl grew weary, 
more than once the exclamation escaped him : “For- 
ward, child ! We shall soon get to your grandmother 
Hardine ! ” 

It was a bright August morning when he reached 
the first post bearing the inscription : “ Reckenburg !” 
The country differed in no respect from that which 
he had traversed for several days, but our stranger 
was far from belonging to the class of way-farers who 
notice agriculture. Yet notwithstanding this, he felt 
as if he had entered a new region. Was it the glim- 
mering light of home that dazzled him or were the 
meadows really so much more luxuriant, the fields so 
much richer and better tilled ? Did the trees in the 
forest really grow so much taller, the orchards bear 
fruit so much more generously ? How evenly all the 
cross roads were paved, as if regularly laid out ! 
“No cannon would stick on these, it would be like 
Quatrebras ! ” exclaimed the old soldier. He could 
not help thinking of the care the old sportsman to 
whom he was apprenticed took of woods and game, 
as he saw the stately dappled bucks and powerful 
stags in the ancient pine forests, while here and there 
the animals were lying around a spring, and the 
fawns gambolled merrily about. “Yes, it is pleasant 
here ! ” cried the poor vagabond. “ Look around, you 


38 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

Stupid child. All this belongs to your grandmother 
Hardine ! ” 

The people on the Reckenburg estate, however, 
seemed less attractive than the land. It was harvest 
season and the fields were full of active life. There 
he saw a race, not tall and stately, as Prince Gustel 
remained in his own memory, but healthy and muscu- 
lar, short and neatly dressed, eager to work and 
sparing in pleasure. This was ceaseless labor, each 
for himself, yet thereby helping one another. But 
meantime not a word was spoken, no looks wandered 
from the work — there was no laughing and jesting 
among the young men and maidens, while the fields 
were mowed, the sheaves bound, and the wagons 
loaded. An ant heap could not have been more silent 
and busy. Even those who sat by the road side tak- 
ing their noon-day rest, ate their black bread and 
emptied their mugs of thin beer silently and more 
hastily than peasants elsewhere usually do. No one 
invited the crippled soldier and his tired child to rest 
and take some refreshments, nay they scarcely 
answered his greeting; but when he asked about 
Castle Reckenburg and Fraulein Hardine made no 
reply and stared at the poverty stricken pair with 
surprised, almost contemptuous glances, as if they 
wanted to say ; “ What do you lazy vagabonds want 

in busy, blessed Reckenburg, and why do you ask 
for our proud, rich FrMein Hardine.?” 

The wanderer had followed the road to Castle 
Reckenburg for hours through many changes of for- 
est, field, and meadow, and at last entered another 
game preserve of still greater extent than the first, 


INTRODUCTION. 


39 


of park like appearance, and intersected with nu- 
merous winding paths. Here, too, a busy activity 
prevailed. Children much smaller than little Hardine 
were plucking the first red bilberries of the summer, 
and old women went to and fro with bundles of weeds 
on sticks, and baskets of fragrant mushrooms. Every- 
body on the Reckenburg estate seemed to work from 
the cradle to the grave. But the children toiled as 
silently as the grown people had done, and the old 
women were as mute as the children ; they, too, gazed 
in astonishment at the two pedestrians, while a mili- 
tary cavalcade and several elegant equipages which 
dashed past them at the same moment did not attract 
the slightest attention. The crippled soldier vainly 
asked the meaning of this brilliant display of magnifi- 
cently dressed ladies and gentlemen. They silently 
shrugged their shoulders and stooped still more busily 
over their work. “ My Reckenburg tenants are queer 
people, ” said Augustus Muller, but I’ll teach them 
better manners.” 

The densely shaded forest path was just leading 
into the open fields again, when the wayfarer’s steps 
were suddenly arrested by the sight of a group of 
ancient pines. He gazed intently at the slender 
shafts and blackish green foliage, which had grown 
together in a dense mass like an arbor. “ Pshaw, 
trees are trees ! ” he said at last, as he tore himself 
away from the spot and emerged into the open coun- 
try. Hitherto he had perceived no village, only in 
the distance a few scattered houses which he took 
for farm houses, mills, or brick kilns. He was tor- 
mented with thirst. There must be a tavern some- 


40 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


where. So, on leaving the forest, he looked around in 
every direction. To the left the road to the castle 
continued in a broad avenue shaded by limes ; directly 
in front was a row of fields where vegetables were 
growing. He now turned towards the right and 
stood still as if a thunderbolt had struck him when, 
just before the thicket of pines, he perceived a little 
house of very old fashioned architecture. He stared 
at the gable, which was adorned with a dog’s head 
carved in stone bearing a count’s coronet, breath- 
lessly walked round the three remaining sides of the 
little house, struck his forehead with his clenched 
fist, and at last with the cry : Nurse, nurse Justine ! ” 
darted through the open door. 

But it was not the old nurse, but a family of young 
children whom he found seated in the neat room at 
their noonday meal. The table was spotlessly clean, 
although the food consisted only of butter, milk, and 
water gruel. Herr Augustus would have felt no 
appetite for this fare, if he had been invited to sit 
down. 

But he was not invited, on the contrary everyone 
rose and gradually pressed him back to the door. It 
was with visible reluctance that they told him the 
house, formerly occupied by the keeper of the Count’s 
hounds, was now the dwelling of the head shepherd. 
Then, with suspicious glances, the door was locked 
and the whole family went towards the sheep-fold, a 
new building. 

Only a grey haired grandfather was left behind to 
warm his stiff limbs in the sunlight on a bench before 
the door. Our soldier remained with him to request 


INTRODUCTION. 


41 


more particular information about nurse Justine and 
Fraulein Hardine, and whether because in the old 
man’s time there had been less work and more talk- 
ing in Reckenburg^ or whether, according to the cus- 
tom of old age, the name of one well known in his 
youth strengthened his memory and loosened his 
tongue, Augustus Muller received from him informa- 
tion, which as it were formed the connecting link in 
the chain of his recollections and hopes. 

Frau Muller or, to speak more familiarly, nurse 
Justine, had come to Reckenburg with the young 
Fraulein Hardine, whose nurse she had been, and 
was kept there by the old black countess ; she 
was the only person who had ever seen her in her 
gold tower. She usually lived in the empty dog 
house and practiced the business of midwife in the 
village. When she died, many, many years ago, the 
Fraulein ordered a cross to be erected over her grave, 
on which was the inscription: “The most faithful 
of servants.” To be sure, the old man could not re- 
member whether nurse Justine ever had a foster 
child, perhaps it was during the time he served as 
a soldier in the Rhine campaign. 

But nurse Justine had had such a child ; Augustus 
Muller remembered it only too well, and the church 
register must give some information about where, 
when, and of whom this child had been born. With 
rapid strides, far in advance of his daughter, he hur- 
ried towards the parsonage. 

The house, a new, handsome dwelling, stood at the 
foot of the church which, being built on slightly rising 
ground, towered above the village. At the back, on 


42 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


the eastern slope of the hill, was the churchyard, 
while the parish school house had been erected oppo- 
site at the entrance of the village street, and like the 
parsonage was surrounded by neat, spacious grounds. 
The breathless man who rushed towards it from the 
forest, however, had no look of interest to bestow on 
all which thus appeared before him with such blissful 
promise. 

He was in the act of opening the door, when a half 
grown boy, wearing a gay little school cap, came 
forward to meet him. For the first time he saw on 
the Reckenburg estate a frank, happy face, which 
won our wayfarer’s heart at the first glance. 

His father, so the lad answered Augustus Muller’s 
inquiry for the Herr Pastor, was at the castle, where 
to-day, the third of August, the Fraulein was giving 
an entertainment in honor of the king. He, the boy, 
was also on his way there, not as a guest, as he 
smilingly added, such an honor did not yet fall to his 
share, only to look at the beautiful horses and car- 
riages a little while. If the matter was urgent, he 
would call his father. 

The soldier now hastily faltered his desire to 
obtain his baptismal certificate, presenting as a recom- 
mendation the signatures of the two provosts of the 
cloister, which he had already taken from his pocket- 
book. 

Ludwig Nordheim,” said the boy after glancing 
at the paper. ''My grandfather’s name and hand- 
writing.” 

"Your grandfather’s ! ” cried Augustus Muller in 
the greatest delight. "Young sir — your name ? ” 


INTRODUCTION. 


43 


My name is Ludwig Nordheim, like his,” replied 
the boy frankly. “The Nordheims are a fixture in 
the parish of Reckenburg. First my grandfather, 
the Fraulein’s old friend, then my father, also her 
friend and, if his wishes were gratified, I should some 
day be the third. But the pulpit is too narrow for 
me,” he joyously continued. “I should rather be a 
farmer, like our Fraulein Hardine. To be sure, she 
says, * I must study first.’ ” 

The soldier’s head grew confused with its chaos of 
thoughts as the boy uttered these words, and he 
stood still a moment as if blinded by the light of this 
new revelation. “ Did I understand you,” he said, 
seizing the boy’s hand and pressing it violently, “ did 
I understand you, young sir, to say that your grand- 
father, before he became provost of the cloister, was 
pastor herey here in Reckenburg ! Can you tell me 
the date ? ” 

“Not the exact year he became pastor, but it was 
a long time before, — towards the close of the last cen- 
tury, — he was appointed to his position in the cloister.” 

“ Then he must have been here at the time I was 
born. He, he undoubtedly baptised me ; his hand 
entered my name in the church register. That is 
why he loved me better than any of the others. Let 
your father remain at the castle in peace, my dear 
young sir. One glance at the church register, and 
the whole affair will be settled.” 

“ I am sorry I cannot gratify your wish, even if I 
dared,” replied the boy. “ There is no register of 
that date. The books were burned in the year ’97, I 
think, when a flash of lightning struck the vestry and 


44 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


destroyed the larger portion of the old church. The 
one you see yonder has been newly erected by 
Fraulein Hardine, as everything in Reckenburg has 
been renovated by her — the soil, the village, and 
even the people. But the fire fell from heaven, my 
father says, that even in the registers no one might 
be reminded of the old evil disorderly times. But I’ll 
tell you what, my good man^” he continued after a 
few moments reflection, “wait until the guests have 
left the castle, towards evening, and then ask Fraulein 
Hardine herself. She was often here at that time to 
visit the old Countess, and she, who never forgets 
anything, will certainly remember every child who 
was born in the village, especially if her old nurse 
brought it up.” 

With these words the boy sprang gaily forward, as 
he saw an elegant carriage drawn by four horses turn 
into the village street. Augustus Muller followed 
with a haughty step, holding his head proudly erect. 
The disclosures in the forest and at the parsonage 
had raised what an hour before had been a mere wish 
into an actual certainty. What was the necessity of 
any testimony in black and white, when the connec- 
tion of events was so palpable ? 

A boy is born in a lonely house in the forest. He 
is reared by the parish nurse, who occupies this 
house and who has been his mother’s most faithful 
servant. The village pastor, his mother’s most confi- 
dential friend, baptizes the boy and enters him under 
the servant’s name in the parish register. Undoubt- 
edly it was /le, who secretly blessed the lady’s mar- 
riage, a marriage with some person who stood too 


INTRODUCTION. 


45 


far above or beneath her. Under the protection of 
this ecclesiastical friend, who meantime has been 
promoted to the charge of a prominent charitable 
institution, the mother afterwards places her boy. 
She takes him to him in person, but secretly. She is 
still poor and dependent, she dares not acknowledge 
him publicly ; but she secretly watches his progress, 
provides for him, punishes him, strives to arouse a 
brave, soldierly spirit in him, places him in the calling 
he has chosen, and when at last, having obtained 
wealth and freedom, she can venture to acknowledge 
him — the boy has disappeared ; his name has been 
unheard for many, many years. But the mother 
remains alone, waits for him to return, keeps the in- 
heritance that rightfully belongs to him, increases it 
to a princely property. And he, he is this fortunate 
boy, he is the son of the last von Reckenburg, the 
heir of the magnificent Reckenburg estates. 

Such was the romance our hot-blooded friend 
quickly erected, The dates which would not agree 
with his calculations, the numerous gaps, the contra- 
dictions in the character of the heroine, the problem- 
atical part of the unknown husband did not disturb 
him in the least. Although perfectly sober, he felt 
as if he were intoxicated. If he had had a neat uni- 
form, he would have gone straight to the castle and 
appeared before Fraulein Hardine and her aristocra- 
tic guests without the slightest embarrassment. 

“ Mother ! ” he would have exclaimed, mother, your 
son has returned, and look, this is his daughter, who 
in memory of you bears the name of Hardine ! ” 

But, unfortunately, the heirs of Reckenburg could 


46 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

not present themselves before their future equal in 
their present attire. They must go to some tavern 
and wait till evening. 

So our friend again took the hand of the little girl, 
who crept wearily after him, and walked through the 
long, wide village street. But, strangely enough, as 
the farm-houses appeared on the right and left, all 
new, silent, neat, and soberly solid, it seemed as if the 
stern Hardine’s eyes were gazing at him from every 
window, as she had once looked at the unruly orphan 
boy; again the words “wild stock” buzzed in his 
ears, and he passed his hand over his burning cheek 
as he had done when he felt her blow upon it. A fit 
of despairing weakness attacked him ; he could not 
now have appeared before the resolute lady without 
some strengthening drink. And how singular ! All 
down the long village street there seemed to be no 
place where such refreshment could be obtained. 
“Do people never feel thirsty under Fraulein Har- 
dine’s rule.^” he said, sulkily. “Or do they drink 
water like the cattle ? ” 

Finally in the very last house he found what he 
sought, although no sign nor any of the usual marks 
of an inn, no bowling alley, arbor, nor dancing-room 
invitingly proclaimed it. No, this was not the place 
where a pupil of the bivouac could forget the sutler’s 
tent, where cards and dice are thrown and the beer 
circulates among tippling comrades. Far less was it 
a shelter which offered food and rest to the weary 
beggar, the wandering vagrant. It was a quiet, sober 
farm-house, like all the others in the village, only the 
carriages of the castle guests and a liveried servant 


INTRODUCTION. 


47 


Standing before the door announced that orderly 
people and animals might remain here an hour to rest, 
in consideration of immediate payment. 

Forbidding as was the place, our veteran, assumed a 
very consequential air, sat down on a bench, and called 
for wine. But, the veins on his scarred forehead 
swelled with anger, when the host, without moving, 
eyed him from head to foot with anything but a wel- 
coming glance. What marvel if to-day Prince Gustel’s 
splendid soldierly nature had again awaked in our 
poor devil ! Pie sternly repeated his order, and at the 
same time, with the air of a Croesus, threw his last 
thaler on the table. 

Vain demand ! A shrug of the host’s shoulders 
was his only reply ; the merry little word wine seemed 
an unknown sound in the Reckenburg inn. 

Meantime, however, the attention of the liveried 
servants was attracted by the strange wayfarer, who 
was clothed in rags and threw thalers about so reck- 
lessly. They approached, gave him pleasant answers, 
and if scarcely an hour ago our friend had boldly 
dreamed of being at the magnates’ table in the castle, 
he now sat very contentedly among their liveried 
lackeys. Cumin brandy and beer loosen the tongue 
as well as the denied juice of the vine. Augustus 
talked of his old warlike recollections, but conversed 
still more eagerly of the memories of the still older 
days of peace, which had been aroused by his walk 
through the Reckenburg estate, and felt encouraged 
when other elever people made a verse that rhymed 
with his. Plalf in earnest, half in jest, his plan of 
attack was supported, and the mugs clinked together 
as they drank to a successful result. 


48 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


Now and then a native of Reckenburg, who had 
gone home to dinner, passed the inn, loaded harvest 
wagons lumbered heavily into the village and re- 
turned to the fields empty. However rarely the 
peasants of Reckenburg might visit this place, it was 
worth the price of a mug of thin beer to look at the 
strangers’ horses, and thus the strange tidings of the 
Reckenburg child, who had suddenly sprung up as the 
heir of the estates spread also among them. Shaking 
their heads silently, as they had listened to the story, 
they walked away one after another, the liveried 
Round Table also broke up to prepare the carriages 
for the drive home. But, before evening closed in, 
Fraulein Hardine’s long treasured secret had spread 
far beyond the Reckenburg estate into the surround- 
ing country. 

He who rose last was the now doubly intoxicated 
heir. He paid for the last glass with his last gros- 
chen, roused his child, who had fallen asleep in a 
sunny corner, and hastily exclaimed : “ Wake up, 
sleepy head. Now you shall go to your grandmother 
Hardine ! ” 

“ To my grandmother Hardine ! ” faltered the child, 
as if still in a dream. 

So they walked away hand in hand. The soldier’s 
feet wavered and his chest heaved painfully. Why .? 
He had often drunk twice as much without any per- 
ceptible effect. To be sure, the day had been warm, 
the walk long, and the excitement violent. It was 
sometime before he reached the trellised gate, on 
which a gilded coat of arms glittered in the last rays 
of the setting sun. At the end of a long, wide avenue 


INTRODUCTION. 


49 


of elms appeared the castle, erected on a high terrace ; 
on each side of the avenue to the edge of the forest 
extended the garden, divided according to line and 
rule by lofty hedges. Paths yellow as gold wound 
among the curiously formed beds, in which, surrounded 
by borders of box, grew trees artificially trained into 
various figures instead of flowers. White marble 
statues, which harmonized very well with the plants in 
this pleasure garden, were ranged along the hedges, 
alternating with singular monsters, from whose open 
jaws flowed a slender stream of water. Little Hardine 
clung trembling to her father whenever she saw one 
of these shapes, but her father who had passed through 
many similar pleasure grounds in foreign countries 
without heeding these strange forms, found them here 
in his ancestral home almost terribly grand and 
imposing. 

As he approached the castle, he saw the company 
in their rich dresses and uniforms descending the 
terrace to wander in the garden. For the first time 
the soldier of the legion felt ashamed of the blackened, 
tattered cloak he had worn at Waterloo. He turned 
out of the main avenue into a path between the 
hedges, and thus unobserved reached an arbor of 
gilded trellis work, which opened on either side to- 
wards the terrace. He intended to wait in this dusky 
hiding place until the carriages had borne away the 
last guests and then, plucking up fresh courage, appear 
before Fraulein Hardine. 

In spite of his slow pace, the trembling of his limbs 
and the oppression of his chest increased. His heart 
heaved as if one of the old wounds had opened. He 


50 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


pressed his arm upon his throbbing heart and was 
obliged to lean on the railing, when from the entrance 
of the arbor he looked toward the castle, whose lofty 
windows and glass doors fronting upon the terrace 
stood wide open. Old servants in elegant livery, with 
powdered hair, walked gravely to and fro carrying 
coffee on silver waiters ; others were removing the 
glittering silver ware and the dainty remains of the 
feast from the table in the great dining room on the 
ground floor. How the poor vagabond’s veins swelled, 
and what a feverish light sparkled in his eyes at this 
heretofore unimagined picture of luxury and splendor ! 

By degrees the terrace was deserted by guests and 
servants. Only one couple walked slowly from the 
opposite direction toward the arbor, where the crip- 
pled soldier was breathlessly listening. A stately 
gentleman in the uniform of an official of high rank, 
with a star on his breast, and by his side a lady of the 
same height, with a majestic bearing, who wore the 
order so thoughtfully established for the female pat- 
riots of the war of deliverance. Rich jewels glittered 
amid the laces that veiled the voluminous trailing 
dress, and the rays of the setting sun were reflected 
from the diadem on the thick black hair. The gen- 
tleman was talking eagerly, the lady listened gravely 
and thoughtfully. 

Near the entrance of the arbor they stood still. 
She seemed to be seeking for a reply, rested her arm 
on a vase in which an aloe was dragging out a crippled 
old age, and by this movement turned her face to- 
wards the eaves-dropper. 

All intentions of reserve, all oppressive timidity 


INTRODUCTION. 


51 


suddenly disappeared. Fraulein Hardine !” he 
suddenly exclaimed, “ it is she ! Yes, it is Fraulein 
Hardine !” He rushed out of the arbor and with out- 
stretched hand hurried towards the lady. 

Thus we have seen what we first called a secret, 
rising mist-like from vague recollections at the men- 
tion of a name, and growing denser and denser by 
hasty, selfish hints, until it hung like a threatening 
thunder cloud over Fraulein Hardine’s head. Over 
the head of a lady whom we honored as the creator of 
the prosperity of our native village, who implanted in 
the young colony founded with masculine strength 
and endurance, the motto of her house. “ In right 
and honor” and guarded it from every demoralizing 
contact, like a mirror which the faintest breath of 
decay might sully. 

-And we people of Reckenburg had known her al- 
most from childhood ; her life lay before us trans' 
parent and smooth as crystal. There was no shadow, 
no gap, not even a tender emotion which might have 
allowed the existence of a secret to be suspected. 
The contrast between our fast two mistresses, the 
ghostly old woman in the gold tower, with whose 
name the mothers still frighten their children to 
sleep, and Fraulein Hardine, who in her fiftieth year 
was almost as fresh, vigorous, and active as at fifteen, 
was as great as between day and night. 

No one was held in greater esteem by high and 
low ; she stood amid the most prominent persons in 
the neighborhood, by the side of the man who was 
considered her only confidant, and whom of late many 


52 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

had chosen for her heir, when a wandering beggar, 
the first of his species who ventured to enter her 
presence, dared to make an accusation, a charge 
against her, at which the cheeks of the lowliest 
woman would have burned with shame and anger. 

The conversation with the count, her companion, 
seemed to have engrossed her attention so entirely 
that she had not noticed the presence of the two 
strangers till Augustus Muller pronounced her name 
close at her feet. In his disordered condition, with 
every token of the drunkard, her first feeling was 
that of repugnance and indignation. ** Go ! ” she 
said, as she motioned to the servant to drive away 
the intruder. 

“ Go ! ” cried the soldier, still in the same agita- 
tion, do you bid me go, Fraulein Hardine } I sup- 
pose you do not know me, and yet I recognized 
you at the first glance, though you wore no crown 
twenty years ago.” 

While uttering these words, he had ascended 
the steps and now boldly seized the lady’s hand. 
She involuntarily pushed the intruder away, while 
several servants sprang forward, the guests from 
the garden crowded towards the terrace, and the 
count made a movement as if to throw the dissolute 
fellow down the steps. Whether it was in conse- 
quence of his intoxication, his previous weakness, or 
merely the powerful repulse given by Fraulein von 
Reckenburg, suffice it to say that the man staggered 
and fell down the steps, the ground was stained 
with blood, the ragged cloak dropped off, the cross of 
honor, the mutilated arm appeared ; Fraulein Har- 
dine turned pale. 


INTRODUCTION. 


53 


The slight injury had suddenly sobered the intoxi- 
cated man. He hastily started up and stood for a 
moment in a threatening attitude with clenched hand, 
looking the lady steadily in the face. Then he let 
his arm fall, and said with a pride that formed a 
strange contrast to his previous roughness : This 
is not the first time, Fraulein Hardine, that you have 
raised your hand against me ; but God is my witness 
that it will be the last. You shall never see Augustus 
Muller again. I might have known that one whose 
existence has been concealed in an orphan asylum 
would now, when poverty drives him to seek a shelter 
for his motherless child, be turned away like a crim- 
inal from the threshold of your proud home.” 

During these insulting words the eyes of the 
speechless lady fell upon the child, who had glided 
near her behind her father and was now surrounded 
by a group of compassionate or curious guests. 

What is your name ? ” asked a lady. “Hardine,” 
murmured the little one. Farther questions fol- 
lowed, to which she shook her head with stolid indif- 
ference. At last some one inquired : “ What do you 
want, whom do you seek here ? ” 

“ My grandmother Hardine,” said the child. 

This, too, the proud lady heard ; she saw the be- 
wildered looks of the noble company, and was — silent. 
She seemed petrified or lost in distant memories. 

“ Hush, Hardine,” the soldier now said to his 
daughter, dragging her forcibly away from the group. 
“ Hush, and come ! God is a father of the orphans. 
There will be more charitable souls elsewhere.” 

So saying he turned to go. After a few steps, 


54 the last von reckenburg. 

however, a leaden hue overspread his face. He 
shivered and clung trembling to the railing of the 
arbor. At a sign from Fraulein Hardine the pastor 
hurried to his assistance ; his son, whose acquaint- 
ance we have already made, sprang from between the 
hedges and took little Hardine by the hand. The 
count also followed in evident astonishment, and they 
disappeared in the arbor. But Fraulein Hardine, 
without taking any notice of her guests, turned with 
an agitated face towards the castle. 

How can we describe the amazement of the guests 
at this conduct on the part of the reserved, self- 
possessed lady of the house ^ A portion, and certainly 
the wisest, entered their carriages without a farewell. 
Others did not venture, while still in their hostess’ 
grounds, to listen to the tales their servants had 
heard in the afternoon. The remainder strolled up 
and down the garden walks, waiting for the lady’s 
re-appearance or some solution of the mystery. 

After a short time Ludwig Nordheim came running 
back, panting for breath, to summon the district 
physician, who was among the guests, to the stranger, 
who had suddenly been taken sick at the inn. After- 
wards the pastor and the count returned, the latter 
with a countenance that betrayed the greatest agita- 
tion. “ The vagabond has had an attack of delirium 
tremens,” he said in reply to the questions of his 
acquaintances. The pastor silently shrugged his 
shoulders. Both went to the castle. 

A few minutes later a servant hurried to the inn, 
and was soon followed by the pastor. The guests 
learned that Fraulein von Reckenburg had ordered 


INTRODUCTION. 


55 


the sick man to be nursed with the utmost care, and 
even wished him to be removed to the castle in case 
the physician thought it prudent. They had not yet 
recovered from their astonishment at these directions, 
when the count appeared, looking deadly pale and 
gnawing his under lip in the most violent excitement. 
Without vouchsafing a word of explanation, he en- 
tered his carriage and drove off at full speed. 

The last remaining guests now took their depar- 
ture. Scarcely an hour after the exciting event, the 
pleasure grounds of Reckenburg were as quiet as 
usual. On the following morning, however, some 
returned — it was noticed that the count was not 
among them — in order, out of the purest kindness, 
of course, to inquire about the health of the lady and 
the mysterious stranger. The latter was still seri- 
ously ill at the inn, not with delirium tremens but 
inflammation of the lungs, as the doctor declared. 
Fraulein Hardine had gone away on a journey. She 
who was always on her own estate, who had never 
been seen beyond her own domain except when 
paying a visit to some acquaintance in the neighbor- 
hood, and then always in the legendary gilt coach and 
almost immortal greys, with two powdered lackeys, — 
all legacies from the black countess, — had driven in 
a light hunting carriage to the nearest town, and from 
there proceeded on her journey with post horses. 
In spite of the most diligent inquiries no one was 
able to learn whither or for what purpose. When at 
the end of two days she returned in the same myster- 
ious manner, her first visit was to the inn and Au- 
gustus Muller’s sick bed. Perplexing as this conduct 


56 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

was, it really contained nothing which ought to have 
been permitted to shadow a character so stainless as 
Fraulein Hardine’s. True, she thereby admitted 
that Augustus Muller’s memories were correct, but 
the conclusion a covetous nature had drawn from them 
might, nay, must be erroneous. Fraulein Hardine had 
never sought to pass for a good Samaritan and, as we 
already know, was not considered one. But would it 
have been unnatural, even for Fraulein Hardine, to 
place a helpless orphan in an asylum and watch over 
him there ? Or was it so difficult to understand, that 
even Fraulein Hardine would experience an emotion 
of compassion, perhaps remorse, at the sudden ap- 
pearance of one who had been a protege in her 
youth, in the guise of such a ruined creature ? She 
only needed to mention a name, explain the origin of 
the orphan boy, and the storm would subides. 

But Fraulein Hardine did not utter this name nor 
give this explanation. Her friends languished for 
the solace of one word, — of course out of the purest 
anxiety for the fair fame of the noble lady, — and she 
did not afford them this solace. True Fraulein Har- 
dine had no compassionate nature, not even to herself. 
Neither now nor afterwards did she mention to any 
human being the mysterious incident that occurred at 
the festival given on the king’s birthday. 

After many years, however, and for a certain pur- 
pose, or to speak more correctly, for a certain person, 
she wrote the story of her life and in it disclosed “ her 
secret,” as she herself called it. The task was evi- 
dently a labor of love, nay even performed with 
cheerfulness; and we are probably not mistaken when, 


INTRODUCTION 


57 


in the publication of this confession, we venture to 
expect the interest of a wider circle than that of the 
personal friends. For even if the picture of charac- 
ters and customs, which we unroll before our readers, 
is somewhat antiquated, there is a truthfulness 
about it totally independent of any time and fashion. 
Yes, God’s ways are wonderful, and so are the laws 
that govern human hearts ! 


MY SECRET. 


^ 

CHAPTER I. 

THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 

The riches of Reckenburg were as far from my 
cradle as the gold mines of Peru, and the last of the 
“ white ” baronial line were not the greedy adventurers 
who, for the sake of mere paltry pelf, would have 
ventured into the domain of the “ black ” head of their 
race. They had for generations found an asylum 
that honorably sheltered the poverty of a noble 
family, and were content and happy under the flag ; — 
no one, however, was probably more satisfied than 
the last of the line who, when a lieutenant, had mar- 
ried a little cousin, also a descendant of the “white” 
branch, as poor and noble in lineage as he himself. 

Eberhard and Adelheid von Reckenburg had 
grown up together like a brother and sister, and I 
doubt whether in any stage of their acquaintance the 
great word love had ever been exchanged between 
them. Large words were as rare among the von 
Reckenburgs as little tokens of tenderness, from 
which observation, however, it should by no means 
be inferred that the members of the family were not 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 


59 


devotedly attached to each other. On the contrary, 
I could scarcely imagine a happier marriage than 
that, which for more than thirty years had united 
Eberhard and Adelheid so closely that their hearts 
seemed to throb with the same pulsation. He ; tall, 
ruddy, robust, — as he called himself, ‘‘an original 
Saxon” — whom some mischievous kobold had en- 
rolled among the light cavalry. She ; small, delicate, 
pale, and agile. He\ good-natured, careless, cool, 
ready as soon as things became too serious for him to 
dismiss them with a jesting word. She ; circumspect, 
clever, practical, and therefore, to their mutual satis- 
faction, the prompter and secret machinist of the 
household stage. Both ; thoroughly honorable people 
of noble blood. That the heroine and writer of this 
story, the only child of the happy couple, resembled 
her father in the structure of her body, her mother in 
that of her mind, will be seen from her life. 

I received the name Eberhardine, as my father had 
formerly received his, in honor of the head of the 
family. Both generations per prociira, and without 
lender or receiver ever having seen each other. As, 
however, the aristocratic godmother in her turn was 
named for the Electress Eberhardine, that Branden- 
burg who, in spite of her youth and Protestant faith, 
knew how to maintain her right to her Augustus and 
the Polish crown, I am of the humble opinion that a 
vein of this foreign tenacity of purpose was trans- 
mitted by means of the baptismal register through 
the Saxon succession of godmothers in the female line. 
Papa smoothed “the uncouth beast in the beginning. 


Eber signifies wild-boar. 


6o 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


and his daughter also afterwards, ex officio, willingly 
contented herself with the Hardine, though she 
lacked the sanction of the calendar. 

The young couple had commenced housekeeping — 
nota bene ; in the times of scarcity of the Seven 
Years’ War, — on a monthly salary of twelve thalers, 
and an income from inherited property of about the 
same amount. So far, however, as my own memory 
extends, my father commanded the squadron, a post 
which to many of his equals in rank yielded the 
revenues of a knight’s manor, and by those not par- 
ticularly desirous of honor was preferred to a major’s 
epaulettes. But as Captain von Reckenburg was a 
man who did not understand how to be niggardly 
with pig-tail ties and made every horse-shoe a matter 
of conscience, the ‘‘ honor of his house ” kept the house- 
hold purse from enlarging according to the scale of 
the office. With the utmost economy in management 
there was very little prosperity, though the soldier’s 
life in those electoral times can 7tot have been called 
one of ruinous campaigning and wandering. My 
father, during the whole period of his military 
service, was attached to the same regiment and re- 
mained with it in the same garrison. We had taken 
deep root in the little provincial city, and considered 
it fortunate for our household comfort that a younger 
branch of the electoral family, which had formerly 
resided in the place, had become extinct a short 
time before, and we were therefore not obliged to 
regulate our daily life according to the demands of 
our rank. 

Yet we rejoiced in many a brilliant memento of 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 


6l 


those ducal times. On the heights overlooking the 
city stood the magnificently furnished castle, and, 
though unoccupied, its terraces, vineyards, and gar- 
dens, sloping down-ward to the houses of the citizens, 
afforded pleasant ^valks. We still had the widow of 
the marshal of the household, a pensioned page, a 
^titular court huntsman, court tailor, court chaplain, 
and court — cellarage. The latter was even in the 
immediate vicinity. A cooper, Muller by name, had 
leased it, together with the right to sell liquor in and 
out of the castle pavilion, so from our house and 
garden we could amuse ourselves by watching the 
revels of our fellow citizens or feel indignant with 
them, according as mood and occasion prompted. 

The house in which my parents lived from their 
marriage to their death also boasted of an aristocratic 
origin. A duke had ordered it to be built for his 
barber, but died when only the first story was com- 
pleted. The office of barber was stricken from the 
new prince's household and the second story from the 
architect’s design. The ridge-lead was put directly 
on the ground floor but, according to the necessities 
of later occupants, was raised story after story until, 
at last, the roof was three times as high as the 
building. 

How glad I am, my friends, that I can introduce 
you into a house of such natural growth. For nothing 
so refreshes the monotony of age as a curiosity from 
our earliest youth. “ The pug-nosed face with a high 
night cap” appears before my eyes like a living 
creature ; but what should I have to describe about 
an ordinary suite of rooms like those in a city ? 


62 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


The house was called the barber’s shop, or even 
the Faberei, for, together with its builder’s trade, it 
had been inherited by his posterity, and “ Faber ” 
was the name of the barber who had been excluded 
from the prince’s household, and whose high office 
still possessed a memento in the shape of the little 
gate that opened from the terrace of our garden into 
the castle square. 

This house, with all its appurtenances, had now in 
consideration of a yearly rental of thirty French 
dollars become the same as the independent posses- 
sion of the von Reckenburg family. Herr Faber, a 
widower, was rarely at home. His barber’s shop, in 
a habitable room in the story under the roof, adjoined 
the little chamber which had been assigned me at a 
very early age for my private use, and the three 
enticing brass basins rattled in the wind and glittered 
in the sunlight between the windows that divided us. 
The rooms over our heads were occupied by the ser- 
vants of the von Reckenburg family — I mean the 
maid and the soldier who was always called “ Purzel.” 
Higher up were store rooms for provisions and fodder, 
drying lofts, smoking chambers, etc., etc. 

Now comes the aristocratic ground floor. From 
the entry which divided it in halves opened the spa- 
cious family sitting-room, whose walls were yellow 
washed ; adjoining this was the sleeping room and 
council chamber of the married pair. Behind these 
two, overlooking the courtyard, were the kitchen and 
offices of the squadron. There were the baronial 
apartments ! 

But what an aristocratic harmony existed between 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 


63 


the sitting room and its appointments ! The high 
sofa with its blue plaid cover, spun by Frau Adelheid’s 
own hands, the curtains of the same material, the 
great oak extension table, and the leathern arm chair, 
in which the master of the house took his afternoon 
nap, the spinning wheel and the roughly made foot 
stool ; in the chimney corner, behind the monstrous 
stove of Dutch tiles, the washstand where the differ- 
ent members of the family washed their hands after 
eating ; over it, as drapery, the home spun spotless 
towels — children, look respectfully at the old furni- 
ture in the new tower at Reckenburg : good people 
lived happily amid these surroundings ! 

And now for the trifling details of housekeeping 
— the brown coffee-pot and pewter table service ; the 
brass candlestick with the long-wicked tallow candle, 
the copper foot stove that honest Purzel carried 
after his mistress to church on Sundays — to you of 
the present day, these things probably seem like 
relics from the giants’ graves ; but ask a grey headed 
bachelor, a lonely old maid, who has never had to 
provide any toys for a nursery, ask them how it feels 
when such a far reaching thread is torn from the net- 
work of their habits } 

But what would be the importance of these simple 
surroundings without the quiet dignity with which 
the occupants moved among them } No offence, my 
young friends, but the consciousness of having noble 
blood lends an ease which the majority of those who 
have grown rich in counting-houses and offices must 
still acquire, and those whose armorial bearings 
possessed two and thirty quarterings first /^//learned 


64 the last von reckenburg. 

when the manners of court life had varnished them. 
You can take lessons from Eberhard and Adelheid 
von Reckenburg, if you wish to walk before high and 
low with head erect and unfaltering step, as every 
honest person ought. 

If the Baroness von Reckenburg, in compliance 
with the demands of her position, went to call upon 
a member of the prince’s family in the same dress 
she wore when, as a young girl, she was presented to 
the same aristocratic personage, she moved, bowed, 
and spoke, though with all due respect, as if she were 
herself an Electress, for she knew that her lineage 
was as ancient and as pure as that of the House of 
Wettin. If the wife of the grasping Herr Amtmann 
or the head forester came to visit her in a carriage, 
with a footman or huntsman behind, she received 
them in her yellow-washed sitting room with the 
towels in the chimney corner, went forward one step 
less and made a curtsey a shade less deep than these 
ladies did when they welcomed her in their magnifi- 
cent rooms, for the rich magistrate’s wife had no 
noble blood at all, and the other lady’s nobility was 
of more recent date than that of the Baroness von 
Reckenburg. The Baroness von Reckenburg, with- 
out the least mortification, returned the constant 
entertainments of the dignitaries of the city by 
inviting them all once a year to take a cup of coffee, 
and Captain von Reckenburg tied up the beans in his 
garden, indifferent whether the customers of his 
neighbor, the tavern keeper, witnessed this homely 
occupation. Captain von Reckenburg, with his short 
clay pipe in his mouth, and before him the earthen 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 65 

tankard of thin beer which he had poured out with 
his own hands, strung on a long thread the apples 
“ his lady ” had pared, and was no more disturbed by 
the announcement of a visitor than when, at the head 
of his Hussars, he passed before the General-in-Chief. 
Do the same thing now in the same way, and the 
thirty-two or even the sixty-four quarterings of the 
von Reckenburgs would become a jest or a soap- 
bubble. 

But in my time and in our little provincial city with 
the relics of the extinct ducal branch, they were 
neither a jest nor a soap-bubble, but a firm pedestal, 
on which, even in the movement downward^ one 
might to-day allow a patriarchal mixture of society, 
and to-morrow without offence draw the line of caste. 
It would never have entered the head of the most 
opulent merchant or tradesman to force himself into 
the aristocratic circle that assembled on Thursday 
afternoons in the castle-garden rented by the tavern 
keeper. No matter how poor in pleasures and rich 
in daughters a widow of noble blood might be, she 
would never have sought an hour’s amusement or a 
husband for one of the young ladies in the plebeian 
society, which on Mondays took their pleasure under 
the self-same arbors. The plebeian dignitaries, mag- 
istrates, pastors, doctors, belonged it is true to both 
circles, but without forming a link between them or 
being looked upon by the habitues of the Thursday 
assemblies in any other light than as so much unavoid- 
able stuffing. Culture and taste were essentially the 
same, and thus the material for entertainment on 
Thursday and Monday was similar. The gentlemen 


66 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


played ninepins, cards, talked politics, and sipped 
the tavern keeper s sour wine ; the fair sex knitted, 
dipped home-made cakes in thin coffee, and gossipped 
— the Monday visitors about the Thursday ones, and 
vice versa. On winter evenings the young people 
played forfeits and occasionally danced. 

We, on the contrary, did not sit apart during the 
twilight hour in the garden behind our house, but 
socially on the bench before the street door. The 
men both of plebeian and noble birth, soldiers and 
civilians, walked up and down smoking, the women 
talked from house to house, called to the passers by, 
examined one another’s spinning, and asked each other 
to taste their supper, in which it must not be concealed 
that we and others of the same rank probably had 
the nicest morsels. Moreover, there was no festival, 
no wine or fruit harvest celebration at our neighbor, 
the tavern keeper’s on one side, or our neighbor, the 
cloth maker’s on the other, that Frau von Reckenburg 
did not receive a sample to try. Frau von Recken- 
burg thanked them by a pleasant reception and praised 
the palatable present, but I never knew her to return 
it from her own table. 

Among such views I had reached an age, when it 
was necessary to take into serious consideration the 
duty of securing an education suitable to my rank. 
As a French woman, I mean a governess, would 
not have suited the economy of the household, my 
careful mamma from my very cradle had laid the 
foundation of the main point of a good education — 
she always spoke to me in French, and thus taught 
me the grammar also, which she understood more 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 6/ 

thoroughly than that of her native tongue. When I 
was in my eighth year a tutor was engaged to teach 
me the other branches, a young man fresh from the 
university, gentle and tender as his name, Christlieb 
Taube.* For seven years this pattern youth lit- 
erally wrung himself dry, in order not to withhold 
from the pupil entrusted to his care a single drop of 
the precious material so lately absorbed ; moreover, 
“for practice” he made many a correction and kept 
many an account in the office of the squadron — 
duties in which Captain von Reckenburg did not al- 
ways show himself a faultless hero, and “ for amuse- 
ment” took charge of the garden and built an arbor 
on the terrace, besides painting with his own hands 
garlands of roses and forget-me-nots on the white 
walls of his little room between the ones occupied by 
the maidservant and Purzel ; in short, he made himself 
useful and avoided injuring anything, in a way no one 
else would have done for a salary of twenty-five 
French dollars a year. Afterwards he gave me a 
proof of the most touching loyalty to friendship, and 
with all this in his last letter, written a short time 
ago, spoke of “ the years he had spent as a scholar 
rather than a teacher in this noble family as the hap- 
piest of his happy life.” Therefore let my happy 
tutor, Christlieb Taube, be held in all gratitude and 
honor. 

As mamma did not think it proper for me to be 
alone in the schoolroom, and papa declared it quite 
too tiresome, the choice of a companion for my 
studies fell as a matter of course upon our neighbor. 


* Christ-love Dove. 


68 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

the tavern keeper’s Dortchen, who had hitherto been 
my only friend. This was also one of those allowable 
condescensions to the lower classes, since even in 
princely households it is quite customary to have a 

Priigel-kind',”^ a condescension, however, which in 
our case was caused by a kindly feeling ; for the 
little one was motherless, and her father, the tavern 
keeper, a poor guardian for this child. 

Yes, for this child ! If I could conjure her up be- 
fore your eyes in colors as vivid as even after the 
lapse of half a century, she still appears before mine ! 
As she was in those days and almost imperceptibly 
grew up through each succeeding year : as girl, wife, 
matron, the lovely child, Dorothee ! 

But who can describe that charming creature, 
whose cradle, as the saying goes, was sur- 
rounded by the Goddess of Love and the three 
Graces } And even if I understood how to use 
the brush instead of the pen, you might perhaps see 
the delicate figure, which looked as if moulded from 
wax, the softly rounded limbs, the luxuriant golden 
hair that framed the rose-bud face and floated like a 
veil down to her knees, the dimples in the cheeks 
and chin. But could you see the rich blood under 
the flower-white blue-veined skin, the changeful color 
of the eyes, when like a transparent crystal they 
were laughingly or inquiringly raised one instant, 
and the next, deeply shadowed, meekly sought the 
ground } Could you see the graceful bending of the 
figure, the quick transition from passing gravity to 
jesting and playfulness } Could you hear the silvery 


* A child who is punished for the young prince’s faults. 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 


69 

little voice glide up and down the scale, the merry 
laughter like the carolling of the thrush on a sunny 
May day } 

But what would it avail if I had .continued to talk 
in such flowery language from that time to this } You 
will understand the charm of our little “ Dorl ” from 
its influence upon others, the only way in which any 
charm can be described or understood. First of all 
in its effect upon myself. 

In those childish days I imagined the little angels 
under God’s canopy looked like her, and the puff- 
cheeked trumpeters in our old church seemed to me 
very clumsy heavenly creatures beside my dainty, 
earthly little Dorl. Year after year the spell 
physical beauty has always exercised over me — per- 
haps because I missed it so entirely when I looked 
into my mirror — increased. The young girl became 
the delight of my eyes, pleasure became love, and I 
should probably have a story to tell you of sisterly 
friendship, if — yes, if — 

Almost from the cradle we had spent all our time 
together ; we were of the same age, of equal educa- 
tion, both poor ; she was beautiful and I was not — 
but she was a cooper’s daughter and I a Baroness 
von Reckenbur^ ; there was a gulf between us, whose 
depths I had learned to measure almost with my 
mother’s milk. I might receive her confidences, but 
not return them, and in spite of her charms or per- 
haps precisely because of her charms, which rendered 
any less delightful society distasteful, I was and 
remained in heart a lonely creature. 

** The rose and the leaf that protectingly encircles 


•JO THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

it” honest Taube had once called us — intending to 
compliment me — in a New Year’s poem, and the 
piece of grass green serge my mother had purchased 
at a fair at a great bargain, since it supplied material 
enough to clothe me all through my childhood, un- 
doubtedly suggested the second part of his metaphor. 
Let us go back to Christlieb Taube’s school-room 
with these two — the rose and its leaf. 

It would be audacious to assert that no scholar 
was ever more eager and attentive than the tavern 
keeper’s active little Dorl. But there was certainly 
never one, with whom even a more quick-tempered 
instructor would have so willingly been patient. On 
the contrary, it may be stated without exaggeration 
that a pupil has rarely existed who was so anxious to 
learn and so persistent as the tall, quiet Hardine von 
Reckenburg, but also rarely one who could some- 
times drive even a dove-like nature to despair. 
Fraulein “Original-text,” her father called her, when 
he sometimes happened to hear the unwearied How.^^ 
Where } Why ? with which she pumped the well of 
knowledge at her command to the very dregs. 

Learn what you can, is an old saying ! Well, at 
the end of her seven years study pupil number one, 
let it be mentioned with all due modesty, could write 
German in a tolerably legible hand and also repeat 
the four tables of arithmetic from memory, as well 
as put them down on her slate. She could recite the 
genealogical table of the House of Wettin and the 
succession of German emperors down to Leopold II. 
who reigned a short time ago, and especially Doctor 
Martin Luther’s long and short catechism. It is 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 


n 


possible that she also knew the earth turned on its 
axis, although this seems to me to be one of the 
things which our teacher acknowledged with a sigh : 
“That we really cannot say,” and drew a long breath 
of relief, when his patron, the baron, added laughing, 
“And it is very foolish to ask.” 

But it was a great grief to our conscientious 
Christlieb Taube that, with all this, there was one 
vein, and indeed a principal vein in his fountain of 
knowledge, which he was obliged to close without 
any exhaustive effusion. The baronial possessions 
did not extend to a piano, and as Fraulein “ Original- 
text ” had very little ear and a by no means pliant 
voice, while skill without talent was not absolutely 
demanded by the education of those times, the noble 
art of music was omitted from the plan of instruction. 
Only the usual church hymns were practised to the 
notes of the tutor’s violin, and a few secular tunes 
now and then added for the benefit of the lark -like 
voice of pupil number two. 

After these manifold performances there was, it is 
true, one last categorical necessity of a suitable edu- 
cation, in which the training of the university was 
deficient, and for which the ex-ducal capital offered 
no reliable substitute. However, as for the alpha of 
French, so for this omega a worthy amateur was 
found in the bosom of the family. Had not Captain 
von Reckenburg been trained in the Dresden cadet 
corps, the best nursery of that knightly art which 
gives the most unlicked bear grace, ease, and irresist- 
ibility in society. Had he not been praised as a pat- 
tern scholar and practised the art con amove at all 


72 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

the Thursday assemblies as the best dancer, till 
increasing corpulency rendered the ball-room some- 
what distasteful ? But in the freedom of home, 
without the oppressive uniform, the rules of rythmical 
movement might be comfortably explained to bless a 
rising generation, and thus we see the family sitting- 
room of the von Reckenburgs, already used for so 
many different purposes, finally transformed into a 
temple of Terpsichore. 

Three times a week, during three winters, the 
heavy dining table was pushed into the entry, 
Christlieb Taube’s violin resounded from the window 
as an orchestra, and the baroness, playing the part of 
a critical chaperon, sat in the chimney corner behind 
her spinning wheel. But Captain von Reckenburg 
in soft felt slippers and a yellow calico dressing-gown 
lined with flannel, his thick queue swinging to and 
fro on his neck like a pendulum, stood opposite to 
his daughter Hardine and her partner, to conscien- 
tiously put them through the whole high school of 
his favorite art, from the first positions through all 
the turns and curtseys of the minuet, the chassis and 
entrechats of the Anglaise^ to the gay roundelay with 
the three stamps of the heel. 

Many things, which in the present seem like lead, 
turn to gold in the memory. I now look back to 
those dancing lessons as the merriest hours of my 
childhood ; then I endured them as a torturing fate. 
My father’s role of teacher offended my sense of 
the Reckenburg dignity, and the inherited Recken- 
burg limbs showed themselves by no means skilful in 
the agile dance. 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 


73 


But my companion, oh ! what a. graceful vision she 
was, what a pure ceaseless delight ! With a pink 
flush suffusing her face to the roots of her golden 
hair» and her lips half parted, she circled around as if 
in her element, laughing and joyous, hovering up and 
down the room in the shawl dance, the climax of 
skill, like a butterfly, now hiding her head behind the 
muslin scarf, then roguishly peering out from its 
folds, rising and bending and swaying, an undulating 
billow from head to foot. The musician in the 
window sighed between the soft notes he drew from 
his violin, her partner in the green serge forgot 
fatigue and anger, and her teacher clapped his hands 
with the enthusiasm of a connoisseur. 

“ She will make a furore ! ” he exclaimed one even- 
ing when the family were alone. 

“A furore, where asked the feminine critic, in 
the tone her husband was wont to call the wisdom of 
Solomon. 

*‘Do you think of putting her in the corps de 
ballet, Eberhard ? ” 

A pity, a pity,” sighed my father. But Frau 
Adelheid continued : 

“The ball room is closed to Herr Muller’s daughter, 
and I think it is quite as well for those who frequent 
it.” 

“A pity, a pity ! ” sighed my father a second time. 

“But, aside from that, Eberhard, she has not 
caught the idea of the minuet, she could not on^ac- 
count of her parentage. How she lifts the skirt of 
her dress, as if she were toying with her apron in a 
pastoral dialogue ! Do you call that bow a curtsey } 


74 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


There I must praise our daughter. Without moving 
a muscle of the upper portion of her body, she bends 
her knees to the ground and then gradually rises 
again. Without entangling herself in her dress or 
making a false step, she moves backward with dignity, 
as she advanced. Exactly the demeanor with which 
a von Reckenburg kisses her sovereign’s hand.” 

“ Why, of course, of course, our good, dignified 
Eberhardine ! ” my father assented, patting me kindly 
on the cheek. But he again sighed for the third 
time : “ It’s a pity, a pity about little Dorl ! ” 

I had only happened to catch this effusion, and 
knew I must be silent on such occasions. But my 
mother’s wisdom had fallen on fruitful soil. Poor 
little Dorl was denied an entrance to every place 
where she^ would have shone. Eberhardine von 
Reckenburg had a right to a position, from which she 
could offer her homage to the highest of the earth. 

We were in our fifteenth year, and were educated, 
one in accordance with the demands of her station, 
the other far above it ; we spoke French and danced 
the gavotte, we had had our own tutor and knew our 
catechism thoroughly ; we were ready to be received 
into the ranks of grown people and Christians. So 
on Palm Sunday of the year 1790 we knelt side by 
side before the altar, to renew our baptismal vows 
and for the first time take the holy communion. 

The first communion ! A confession for two from 
one mouth ; the priestly hand laid in blessing on the 
heads of both ; the same motto for both lives — that 
is, or at least was in my time a powerful bond. And 
I certainly felt this bond to be as firm and strong as 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 


75 


an oath, while warm hearted Dorothee, in those days, 
would joyfully have sacrificed her life for me. And 
if not her life, the dear little goose was eager to sacri- 
fice for me on this solemn occasion something that 
enters largely into the composition of a young girl’s 
existence. She had received from her godmother 
the present of a heavy black material for her confirma- 
tion dress, while I had only the one my own mother 
had worn at her confirmation. I in a shabby, pieced 
dress, she clad in new garments from head to foot ; 
the child almost died of shame at the bare idea, and 
did not rest until she had discovered some compensa- 
tion. She dared not give me the valuable present, 
for what right had she to aspire to such a happiness ! 
But she wanted to put on her old black serge, that 
she might stand by my side in an attire suited to the 
difference in rank. Her mind was fixed upon it, she 
returned again and again with her humble petition. 
Of course in vain. I wore a pearl necklace which my 
mother bestowed upon me as her own confirmation 
gift. But I had not needed the jewels. Eberhardine 
von Reckenburg would have felt no embarrassment, 
if she had gone in tinsel and Dorothee Muller in 
brocade. 

Moreover the rustling gros de Tours, to my just 
indignation, disturbed the devotion of my companion; 
she passed her hand over it and smiled at the sharp 
crackling sound, touched me during the singing, and 
looked at me to call my attention to the glances the 
congregation cast at her. The dear, innocent child 
thought her magnificent dress was the cause of the 
attention her beauty attracted. I myself, on the con- 


76 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


trary, apart from that vexation, entered with absorbing 
earnestness into the solemn ceremonial, and the 
verse from the Bible which was given to us as the 
motto of our lives, has constantly occupied Fraulein 

Original-text’s ” most profound thoughts. It was one 
of those which sound as if they were very easily under- 
stood, and yet are rarely correctly interpreted by us 
children of the world : “For as many as are led by the 
Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. ” 

Yes, but what was the spirit that must lead us into 
the Father’s kingdom ? Was it that which hovers 
over the waters, the spirit of creation and development, 
the metamorphosis of the natural powers, which strives 
to bring the vanished Garden of Eden back to earth ? 
Or was it that which stands recorded on the tables 
of the law, the spirit of veneration, justice, and faith ? 
I would willingly have allowed these two spirits to 
lead me from this world into the next. 

Only I had been told of a third spirit, which often 
seemed to draw me in a direction exactly opposite to 
these two. Of the spirit that condemns taking care 
for the morrow, forgives the adulterous woman, and 
turns the other cheek to the assailant. T/iis spirit 
did not harmonize with my natural character, and the 
sevenfold blessing the Saviour pronounced over re- 
deemed humanity was an empty sound to my heart. 
Ought, could this incomprehensible spirit be the 
spirit of sonship ? 

Absorbed in such reflections about the mysterious 
verse, I paced up and down our garden on Easter 
morning after the early service. I did not heed the 
golden sunlight, the voices of the birds, or the swel- 


THE ROSE AND ITS LEAF. 


77 


ling buds of spring. I felt no pleasure in the resur- 
rection going on around me. Just at that moment 
I heard Dorothee’s light step, hastily turned, and 
gravely asked what meaning she had given to our 
confirmation verse. 

She raised her large eyes in astonishment and then 
looked down with a burning blush. She had not 
heard or had forgotten the verse, and had not even 
read her certificate. I repressed my indignation, 
repeated the words, and then asked : “ What do you 
call being led by the Spirit of God, Dorothee } ” 

She thought a moment, then suddenly turned as 
pale as she had before been red, raised herself on tip- 
toe and whispered in my ear: “To be good, to be 
good, Hardine.” 

But the next moment, with a loud exclamation of 
delight, she sprang towards a flower bed in which 
she had discovered the first violet, plucked it, twisted 
a few sprigs of green around it, and fastened the 
little nosegay to my neck handkerchief. Then she 
glided as lightly as a bird through a hole in the 
hedge which separated our gardens, smilingly kissed 
her hand to me, and darted towards the house. 

“To be good!” she had said, and a voice in my 
heart cried that the child in her simplicity had hit 
the truth. Yet the old mystery was only solved by 
a new one. Was it being good to act according to 
rule and precept, as I understood them ? Or was it 
to feel in that beatific state, which I did not under- 
stand } 

At last I forcibly turned my mind away from the 
difficult verse, and this was the first time I practised 


78 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


a self-denial, which in after life I made a rule. I 
acted according to my natural disposition, with 
which my education, faithful to the motto of our 
family, harmonized perfectly, and did not doubt 
that all was well, when I acted in ‘‘right and 
honor.” 

It was not until I had reached an age when 
others had grey hair, that that second life motto 
again echoed in my soul, and by a simple incident 
the enigma gained a meaning. Probably I am not 
now one of those whom the Saviour calls blessed 
here on earth. But if we should some day begin 
in the other world where we stop in this, I would 
console myself with the hope that I have advanced 
one stage nearer to the Father’s kingdom. 


MOSJO PER~SE. 


79 


CHAPTER II. 

MOSJO per-s£ 

Our relations of course changed, after we 
ceased to be children. Dorothee helped her father 
in his tavern keeping ; I was introduced as a young 
lady to the magnates of the city and neighborhood, 
received their visits, now and then attended a coffee 
party, and always went to the Thursday assemblies 
in the ducal pavilion. I found no pleasant society 
among my equals in rank of the same age, but 
neither did I miss it. 

Dorothee never entered the von Reckenburg 
sitting-room unless she had invented some request 
or pretext ; the use of the familiar “Du ” ceased ; I 
mean in the case of Dorl. / still addressed her as 
Du and Dorothee ; she called me You and Fraulein, 
like all the others in her rank of life, only she was 
permitted to omit the “ Gnadige.” She no longer 
hugged and caressed me as before, but curtsied and, 
if her heart overflowed, kissed my hand. 

Yet the new forms did not wholly destroy the old 
intercourse, and by no means interrupted the relation 
between the rose and its leaf. Not a day passed 
that the young girl did not slip through the gap in 
the hedge or enter my little attic room. I continued 


8o 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


to be her confidante in every joy, her adviser in every 
danger ; nay, I saw the latter more plainly and felt 
them more anxiously than the child herself. 

Her father had abandoned his productive trade 
and, following the usual course of tavern keepers, 
become almost a drunkard. The man was in a bad 
position ; the lease of the ducal cellar would probably 
be taken from him as soon as it expired ; his future 
was the almshouse. 

These things, however, careless Dorl overlooked 
or did not heed. Her daily vexation was the busi- 
ness of the tavern, for which her father required her 
assistance. The beautiful waitress smiled upon the 
guests, and the guests were not select. Then there 
were jests and gossiping tales, which were unen- 
durable to the child, who was naturally refined and 
moreover accustomed to the tone that prevailed in 
the von Reckenburg sitting-room. 

My father saw his favorite in imminent danger. 
“The child is too handsome for a bar-maid,” I heard 
him say to my mother one day in the privacy of the 
sleeping-room. “ Far too beautiful and too much 
above her position. She does not know how to 
help herself. Adelheid, Adelheid, little Dorl will be 
ruined ! ” 

“You are forgetting Faber, Eberhard,” replied 
my mother very positively. “True, we should 
have cause to reproach ourselves for having re- 
moved the young girl from her natural sphere, if 
we had not for years anticipated this issue. The 
man is ambitious, and success is written on his brow ; 
he will appreciate her greater refinement, he knows 


MOSJO per-s£ 


Si 


her critical position as well as we do ourselves, and 
rely upon it, ETberhard, now that his father’s death 
has made him independent, the marriage will not 
long be delayed.” 

“God grant it, God grant it!” replied my father, 
joyously rubbing his hands. 

But while these words were uttered, I fairly gasped 
for breath and at the conclusion it seemed as if I 
must protest loudly against the hopeful “ God grant 
it ! ” Why ? I knew that since our confirmation 
we had become marriageable, and that the fifteen 
year old Dorothee would not have been the first 
child I had seen go directly from her first communion 
table to the marriage altar. Why did the words “ God 
forbid ’’sound in my ears like the croaking of a frog ? 

How one after another the few people with whom 
I have really lived enter into my confession ! Faber, 
Siegmund Faber ! When in after years this man’s 
name was so often mentioned before me with grati- 
tude and admiration, only a short time ago, my friends, 
when you asked me if I remembered him as one of 
the acquaintances of my youth — you did not suspect, 
no one has ever suspected that this man was my 
earliest acquaintance, my next door neighbor, the 
first and almost the only person who gave me cause 
to think, and between this man and myself a fate had 
come, a secret which for long years I called a crime. 

Siegmund Faber was the only child of our land- 
lord, the barber, and was motherless from the first 
hour of his birth. As he was about six years older 
than I, he must have been already attending school 
at the time of my earliest recollections. 


82 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


But Siegmund Faber had long since chosen some- 
thing wiser than moving up and down on the school- 
room bench. As soon as he had quickly and surely 
appropriated the first elements, he objected to 
beginning the course again every year with a crowd 
of new pupils, and the clear sighted old principal 
was far from reproving him for it. “Faber goes his 
own way,” he said, “Faber is a genius!” But 
Faber senior, who thought the art of the razor the 
pleasantest in the world, and believed it more pro- 
fitable to invest his spare money in fields and 
meadows than in the education of his son, Faber 
senior, had turned the wise old schoolmaster s remark 
to his own advantage. If, as often happened, he was 
urged to send the remarkable boy to a higher school, 
his answer was invariably ; “ My son goes his own 
way, my son is a genius.” 

The genius, however, among Faber’s customers 
became very much like the usual stamp of barbers’ 
sons. But Papa von Reckenburg, who did not allow 
anyone he liked to escape without some innocent 
nickname so easily, could not deny himself the 
pleasure of re-modelling the “genius” a little. 
Mosjo Per-sd was the title the landlord’s son bore 
within the old Faber house. 

And with good reason. Siegmund Faber was an 
original ; that is, he was one of those rare individuals, 
who undismayed force a way through the crowd. 
Nature had prepared him for a ruling passion by 
giving him an imperious will, and the outward form 
was moulded by the spirit within. 

Imagine a man scarcely tall enough for a soldier, 


MOSJO PER-SK 


83 


as Captain von Reckenburg declared. No matter, 
strangely enough, you looked up to him. He was 
like his house — his principal growth was above the 
shoulders. There must have been several more than 
the usual number of joints in his neck, joints which 
aided the constant movement in every direction. 
The head was still longer than the neck, and sloped 
sharply away at the back, but the brow was massive 
and nobly formed. Beneath this high, broad forehead 
was a long, broad nose, with large, wide-open nostrils, 
and below the nose, so exactly adapted to scent out 
everything, was a wide, thin mouth, closed as firmly 
as a dash, while from the sides of the head projected 
two huge ears, which — heads were constantly 
shaken at it — moved to and fro like those of a hare. 

I have sketched no Adonis for you, have I .? But 
now look at his eyes. You cannot distinguish the 
color, they are so deeply sunken beneath the over- 
hanging brows and wander from one direction to 
another with such a restless glitter. Yet let them 
once discover the object already scented, and they 
will pierce to the very marrow of his bones. You 
would not escape their questioning gaze, nor dare to 
resist their bidding. 

In short he evidently had a doctor’s skull and a 
doctor’s physiognomy. Now imagine this face suf- 
fused with the uniform flush of healthy blood, and 
animated with quenchless zeal, imagine limbs delicate 
as those of a woman, but with muscles of iron ; the 
hands by instinctive grasping, stretching, and pulling, 
transformed into steel springs ; imagine the man 
always looking as fresh as if he had just stepped out 


84 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


of a bandbox, without a wrinkle in his faultless 
cravat, a speck of dust on his grey suit, a single hair 
escaping from the thin queue which was always tied 
with a black ribbon, or the smallest vestige of beard 
on his chin' — whether denied by mother Nature or 
removed by his father’s skill I won’t venture to 
determine — and you will have a rude sketch of our 
** genius.” 

He never seemed in a hurry, and was always in 
motion. I have scarcely ever seen him sit down, 
and five hours rest at night was enough for him even 
in the days of sleep-requiring boyhood. Even after 
midnight I have noticed the reflection of his lamp 
on the polished basins that hung between our 
windows, and at daybreak heard him glide down 
stairs with cat-like tread and leave the house. That 
he took some nourishment must be supposed, but I 
never saw him. Perhaps he carried food in his 
pocket and ate it as he walked along, or had his meals 
standing at neighbor Muller’s, where his father 
boarded. At any rate he was not at all regular, and 
you may be sure that this “genius” had not even 
once in his life sat down to a comfortable meal nor 
drank a mug of beer. He did not smoke, he did 
not take snuff, he did not know how to play any 
game, to dance or join in merry conversation, he 
had no intimate friend. His words were quick and 
curt, his voice was slightly falsetto ; he economized his 
pronouns as much as possible, and paused after each 
sentence. He anticipated contradiction and harshly 
cut short all opposition. Yet he did not irritate nor 
offend. His self-consciousness awed others, because 


MOSJO per-s£ 85 

he only spoke of subjects he had mastered. Even the 
Baroness von Reckenburg dared not address him as 
• she did his father, nor call him anything but “Herr,” 
though he was sparing of titles and evidently studious 
not to. recall the manners of the barber’s shop by any 
unusual civility. 

I have described the adult Per-s6 ; but he was pre- 
cisely the same when, as a little boy, he went with 
his father to visit patients, carried his case of instru- 
ments, or held the basin for him when cupping or 
bleeding was necessary. Moreover, he also operated 
at that time on his own account. He could not see 
a wart without twisting it off, a blister without open- 
ing it. Corns disappeared painlessly under his little 
knife. He drew out his schoolfellows’ aching teeth, 
and, by means of the pennies he had saved, induced 
many to submit sound ones to the same operation. 
He even surpassed his father in all the higher 
branches of his profession. Everybody wanted to be 
relieved quickly and gently by Faber junior, and 
Faber senior willingly gave up lancet and pincers, 
contenting himself with razors and the oversight of 
his fields and meadows. 

In the leisure time, of which the indefatigable boy 
had sufficient in the intervals between his books and 
practice, he sat in the apothecary’s laboratory or went 
to the slaughter-house or the flayer, who, like many 
of his craft, passed for a magician. No dead body 
was ever examined or dissected unseen by Siegmund 
Faber. But when at last he finally left school, he 
often remained absent from home for days and weeks, 
and if Father Faber had inquired for a man who 


86 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


always went his own way, he would have found him 
in the clinical institutions and anatomical cabinets 
of our two neighboring universities, or even in more 
distant Jena. Professors, attracted by the strange 
eagerness of the self-taught young man, willingly re- 
ceived him into their classes and gave him instruc- 
tion, which led to still closer investigation. At the 
age when most youths are at the university, Sieg- 
mund P'aber was already a well-known personage, and 
had established a certain reputation for miles around. 

There was consequently no hesitation in accepting 
him as an assistant to our old regimental surgeon. In 
those days few questions were asked about what an 
army surgeon knew or did not know ; people were 
satisfied with what he could or at all events could 7iot 
do. But as Siegmund Faber undoubtedly could do 
something, it was considered a settled thing that he 
should have the old surgeon’s place as soon as the 
latter at last became convinced that he could do 
7iothing. During this period old Faber died ; his son 
had reached his majority, that is, was twenty-one, a 
man of property, and entirely independent. And this 
was the time when my parents expected little Dorl to 
be saved by him. 

For in such contracts, or compensations, nature 
delights ; this man, who seemed to have no appre- 
ciation of anything except physical ailments ; no de- 
sires except to cure them ; no passion save that of 
becoming a master in his profession ; this very man, 
as if his organs needed some refreshment, felt drawn 
with an eager, exclusive longing towards the most 
healthful and beautiful creature in his whole circle 


MOSJO PER-SK 87 

of vision. This creature was his little neighbor, 
Dorothee. 

Even when she was an infant in the cradle, he is 
said to have watched her with delight ; he, the ever- 
restless boy, often lingered for hours gazing at her ; 
and she afterwards became, not his playmate, but the 
only plaything he ever cherished. He brought her 
sweetmeats, flowers, all sorts of toys and ornaments ; 
called her his Dortchen, his child, his betrothed ; 
spoke of her as his future wife with the same confi- 
dence that he expressed the belief that he should 
some day become a famous doctor. And strangely 
enough, no one laughed at the grave little man. 

Afterwards he appeared as the protector of the 
charming girl. He guarded her as if he had a sort 
of right of possession ; his keen eyes flashed with a 
vengeful, angry light at any token of admiration from 
a stranger, his hands clenched at any unseemly jest 
about the pretty bar-maid ; he would undoubtedly 
have killed the offender who profaned his flower. 
That this man, in addition to his proud, speculative 
mind, possessed a soul, a tender, love-thirsting soul, 
was disclosed exclusively in his conduct towards the 
child, whom, like his profession, he had seized by his 
own absolute will. 

You may imagine that Mosjo Per-s6 witnessed 
Dorl’s introduction into our family circle with great 
satisfaction. Here she was safe, here she was trained 
for a social position which he a priori claimed for 
himself. He, who so rarely smiled, was radiant with 
delight when, during the dancing lessons I have de- 
scribed, he beheld the dainty butterfly floating up and 


88 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


down, or heard the silvery little voice chattering 
readily and fluently in a language which he himself 
did not understand. 

The longing for the delight of his eyes, therefore, 
brought him more frequently to the von Reckenburg 
sitting-room than would probably have been the case 
under other circumstances, and in this way he be- 
came a sort of companion of Dortchen’s friend. 

‘‘You understand it, Fraulein Hardine,” he used 
to say, when he confided to me, and me alone, new 
discoveries and conclusions in his practice, or the 
purpose and goal of his expeditions. And “Fraulein 
Original -text’s ” thoughts would be guided by these 
aphorisms into paths honest Christlieb Taube did not 
understand how to open. So it was a barber’s son 
and assistant who, at a dangerous age, offered salt 
and spice to my youthful longings. I did not exert 
myself to please, but to understand him. Mosjo 
Per-s6 was the man who, at fifteen, more than at any 
later period in life, ititerested me, as it is called. 

But the slightest allusion to his profession ceased 
as soon as his Dortchen approached us, — not because 
he had perhaps seen her turn pale or stop her ears at 
the mere mention of blood and wounds, but merely 
because in her presence he forgot his career, since his 
pulses began to beat to another tune, and the burden 
of aspiration yielded to a heart-felt joy. 

And Dorothee you will ask. Did the thought- 
less child suspect the importance of such a nature, 
value the place she had obtained in its love } Did 
she exclaim with the experienced friend : “ God grant 
it.?” or with the inexperienced companion of her 
girlhood : “ God forbid ! ” 


MOSJO PER-SE. 89 

See and hear her in the hour which decided her 
fate. 

It was probably the first or second day after that 
on which I overheard the conversation between my 
parents, which still occupied my thoughts. It was 
the first of the month of July, and our landlord had 
been absent a week on one of his scientific expe- 
ditions. He had learned to ride a short time before 
and Captain von Reckenburg, an expert in the art 
said : This Mosjo Per-se is a devil of a fellow ! He 
never had a horse under him except at the flaying 
place, but he rides like the deuce.” 

My parents were dining with a neighboring land- 
owner, to whom I had not yet been formally pre- 
sented. I was alone in the house, and in the after- 
noon went into the garden to pick some beans for 
the next day’s dinner. I had just commenced the 
troublesome work of cutting them in the grape arbor 
on the terrace, when Dortchen. her face radiant with 
smiles, fluttered through the gap in the hedge. 

‘‘No, Fraulein Hardine ! ” she cried, when a long 
way off, “ no, there is no more curious customer than 
this Mosjd Per-se.” 

“ Has Herr Faber returned ? ” I asked. 

Dorl nodded. “He has just put up his horse in our 
stable. I was standing at the door with father. Did 
he shake hands with me as usual ? No, indeed. He 
just bowed so ” — she bent quickly forward from the 
waist, as we close a pocket knife — “and sent me 
away without ceremony, because he wanted to speak 
to my father alone. Besides, he did not call me 
‘ Du ’ and ‘ Dortchen ’ as usual, but very formally 
said ‘you ’ and ‘ Jungfer Dorothee.’ ” 


90 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


'' I think it is only proper, Dorothee,” I answered 
wisely, “ for a young man to cease such familiarities 
with a girl who may be married any day.” 

Married ! ” cried Dorothee, greatly amused. 

Yes, but to whom, Fraulein Hardine } ” 

‘‘ Why, perhaps to this very Siegmund Faber.” 

The child looked disappointed. “To him.?” she 
pouted. “To him.? No, indeed. He thinks of 
cripples and dead bodies, but not of a wife.” 

“ My parents hope and wish the contrary, Doro- 
thee. They call this marriage your deliverance, your 
happiness.” 

She turned pale and her eyes filled with tears. 
“ But I am afraid of him,” she whispered, trembling. 

“ Have you forgotten the explanation of the sixth 
commandment in our confirmation lectures .? ” I 
asked in the pedantic manner which had become a 
second nature with me towards my little Dorl, and 
fortunately onfy towards her. “ A woman must fear, 
love, and trust her God in Heaven and her husband 
on earth.” 

Dorothee looked at me with her large blue eyes, as 
she had done on the Easter morning when by one 
word she explained the meaning of the bible verse. 
“ Fear she said softly, “no, but I am afraid of 

him. Are you afraid of God, Fraulein Hardine .? ” 

“ But why are you afraid of Faber .? He is a genius, 
unlike everybody else — ” 

“That is the very reason,” she eagerly interrupted. 
“I don’t want a ‘genius’; I want a husband like 
other people ; a person like myself, only much nicer 
and better.” 


MOSjb PER-SE. 


91 


The child had again hit the right mark. True, at 
that time I shook my head. Ten years after I at- 
tained the same wisdom. Singular people are not fit 
to live with others. Marriage and home life cannot 
tolerate originals. 

“ No, no, Fraulein Hardine,” Dorothee repeated. 

He does not think of me, thank God, for I have a 
dread of him.” 

So the matter was settled, and my secret protest 
against my parents’ plan explained. Dorothee did 
not love him, and Siegmund Faber was too good for 
a woman who could not give him her heart. 

I invited my little neighbor to spend the afternoon 
with me ; we sat in the arbor and under her small 
plump fingers the beans soon fell rapidly into the 
dish on her lap. She chatted gaily and laughed at 
my awkwardness ; the impending suitor was forgotten. 

About an hour had elapsed in this way, when a 
hasty footstep on the terrace announced the unusual 
event of a visitor in the garden. The next moment 
Siegmund Faber stood before us : he wore his 
Sunday suit, and made the quick, low bow the child 
had imitated. The bright smile fled from her lips, 
she blushed scarlet and cut the beans with feverish 
haste. 

I looked up at the young man in still greater 
suspense. The most powerful agitation was visible 
on the brow usually so calm ; the ruddy hue had 
left his face, the quick throbbing of his heart was 
apparent under the silver embroidered vest, and his 
hands were clenched to conceal their trembling. 

This was probably the way he looked when he had 


92 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


made up his mind to undertake a very critical 
operation. 

Yet he did not hesitate to declare the object of 
his visit. “My request for an interview is made 
with your father’s knowledge, Jungfer Dorothee ! ” he 
burst forth. 

The inn-keeper was master in his own house, and 
had a right to grant an interview between the young 
man and my little visitor ; so, in spite of the latter’s 
imploring glances, I rose to leave the arbor. But 
Faber stepped before me, seized my hand, and said ; 
“You will oblige me if you will remain, Fraulein 
Hardine.’* 

So I took my seat again and motioned to Faber to 
sit down on a bench opposite to us. He did not do 
so, but drawing a long breath, turned to me^ and 
began at once : 

“You know the goal I have set before my eyes, 
Fraulein Hardine. The usual years of study 
are lost, I must try to replace them by practical 
means. And I shall replace them. But not in my 
little native city, nor in the peaceful condition of 
Saxony. I have ample recommendations. My pre- 
parations are made, I am going to Prussia. In a few 
weeks, perhaps, I shall stand on a field where wounds 
are dealt and must be healed.” 

You know I am writing of the year ’90, and for 
twenty-seven years Prussia had been at peace. To 
be sure, I had heard my father and his comrades 
discussing a difference of opinion between the emperor 
and the king in regard to the affair of the Grand 
Turk ; but no one understood the jumble and no one 


MOSJO PER-SE. 


93 


seriously thought of danger to an out of the way 
province, where there was nothing digestible for 
Prussia to swallow. Siegmund Faber, therefore, 
probably noticed the astonished glance with which I 
answered his prediction of blood and corpses. 

“King Frederic William,” he continued without a 
pause, “ has gone to the army in Silesia. There I 
too shall join the Weimar regiment, to whose illus- 
trious commander I am recommended by the Jena 
University. Thunder clouds, like those lowering in 
the East and West, do not clear away. If they dis- 
perse this year, so much the better for me. I shall 
gain a twelvemonth for preparation. Day after to- 
morrow I shall be on my way to Berlin.” 

The orator paused, and I heard a sigh of relief by 
my side. Dorothee had dropped the knife and was 
looking roguishly up at me. Everything had resulted 
differently from what I had prophesied. M5sjo 
Per-s6 was going to the war, to become a famous 
doctor ; he was not thinking of his Dortchen and a 
home of his own. 

But Mosjo had only stopped to take breath ; he 
was by no means at the end of what he wanted to 
say. The blood suddenly rushed to his face, only to 
subside again as rapidly ; he sat down, for his knees 
were trembling. What could so agitate this resolute 
nature ? 

He now turned to my neighbor, and his voice was 
so tremulous with emotion that I could scarcely 
believe it to be his. “ I do not know, Jungfer Doro- 
thee, whether you have ever suspected the aspiration 
which has filled my soul for years. You smiled as if 


94 the last von reckenburg. 

it were a jest, when I called you mine. But it was 
no boyish whim, Dorothee. I am not in more solemn 
earnest to-day, than in every former hour since I first 
knew how to understand myself. You are still very 
young, Dorothee, and I should have liked to delay 
the binding words. But I am pressed for the time 
you need. I have your father s consent ; will you 
give me yours, will you become mine, Dorothee ? ” 

With all my confidence in the man, this sudden 
proposal after the warlike preface seemed rather too 
blunt. To marry, to marry a half child, when one 
is in the act of going to the battlefield or entering a 
chirurgical institute as a preliminary to doing so ! 
I was beginning to doubt the common sense of the 
genius, and preparing as a quasi patroness of my 
little Dorl, who clung to me trembling like a May 
flower, for a bold refusal. 

But, ere I could speak, the singular candidate for 
matrimony cut short my protest by hastily adding : 

It is a matter of course that I cannot expect the 
fulfilment of my wishes to-day nor to-morrow. Years 
may, nay must elapse, years of hard struggle, perhaps 
a decade. Have you the courage, Dorothee, to 
wait these years in faith and honor, as my betrothed 
bride.? Are you. sure of me, of yourself.? You will 
never see me again, if I should be overcome in my 
progress towards the goal. But I shall not be over- 
come. And when I, sooner or later, return a famous 
man, will you then become mine .? I have never 
desired the love of any human being save yourself. 
Do you wish me to continue to love you, Dorothee .? ” 

The man’s agitation had seized upon me. The 


MOSJO per-s£ 


95 


daring of his offer harmonized perfectly with my 
fifteen year old temperament. I would joyfully — 
of course supposing that my name had been Dorothee 
Muller and not Eberhardine von Reckenburg — joy- 
fully have clasped Siegmund Faber’s hand, and said : 
“ Break a path for yourself, seek your goal. A man 
like you is worthy to have a woman wait for him for 
years, for a decade, if God wills.” 

But the real Dorothee, who had no mother and no 
father’s protection, who was surrounded by tempta- 
tion and vulgarity, who looked up to me with such 
helpless, pleading eyes, unable to say no, and still 
more unable to say yes ; but my poor, beautiful, 
bright little Dorl ? 

Once more I endeavored to speak in her name, 
and again Siegmund Faber interrupted me. “ I 
know that I am asking something unusual,” he con- 
tinued in a much firmer voice than before, “and 
I feel what you wish to answer, Fraulein Hardine. 
But do not suppose that I shall leave the girl I love 
in her present helpless position, that I shall consent 
to lead my betrothed bride from the tavern to the 
altar. I am going to follow the natural path of man, 
the path of action. It will be an easy matter for me 
to keep the feelings of this hour loyally to the end. 
But she, Dorothee ! If I am to accept the sacrifice 
of her freedom, she must give her future husband 
the right to provide for her in the present. I would 
gladly place her in the charge of a cultivated family 
in a large city. But her father lives, and the duty 
of a child is paramount, so long as the wife does not 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


96 

follow her husband. Moreover, among strangers she 
would inevitably feel herself a dependent, and I want 
her to be free and untrammelled, to act without 
control. So let her take care of her father, help him 
so far as he personally needs her, without mixing in 
the business of the tavern. I have his promise 
that he will make no demands of that kind on my 
betrothed bride. All the preparations are made. 
Say yes, Dorothee, and to-morrow, by legal transfer, 
you will enter into possession of all the property my 
father has left. You will have the use of it until you 
attain your majority without any guardianship, and 
as it has recently been leased, without any trouble. 
If I do not return, you will have the entire disposal 
of it. This is no sacrifice I am making for you, it is 
a burden from which you will relieve me, my dear 
child. I still have more than I need to begin my 
career, and shall soon be entirely independent. You 
will move into my father’s house and furnish it 
according to your delicate taste. Busily occupied, 
as mistress in your own domain, in the room where 
my cradle stood, where I was so long happy in hope, 
I shall see you in anticipation as mine, see you with 
confidence henceforward under the eyes of the 
honored family in which you have grown up, under 
your eyes, Fraulein Hardine, for you will not with- 
hold your counsel and sympathy from Siegmund 
Faber’s betrothed bride.” 

During the last explanation I had not looked up, 
for I was ashamed of the tears in my eyes. Now, 
when the speaker closed with an appeal to my friend- 


MOSJO per-s£ 


97 


ship, I glanced at him in honest acquiescence, and 
then looked anxiously at the child, who was so sud- 
denly called to decide upon a most unexpected change 
in her life. What would she say, how extricate her- 
self from this dilemma, she, who scarcely an hour 
ago had said : “I am afraid of this man ! ” who had 
uttered a sigh of relief, when he spoke of his 
departure, perhaps forever.? 

And now .? Oh ! little, variable Dorl ? Oh ! the 
wonderful changes of a young girl’s heart ! Her eyes 
glittered like a lake that has lain grey and dreary 
under a cloudy sky, when a sunbeam suddenly bursts 
through the mist, her cheeks were suffused with a 
flush of joy. To be a betrothed bride and yet free, 
to be rich, to act without control in her own house, 
be permitted to adorn herself and idle as she pleased 
— all this joy — and not a spark of anything more 
did I read in one glance at those smiling features. 
My heart burned with a sense of shame. 

Did Siegmund Faber ascribe this sudden delight 
to any deeper feelings .? I do not think so. He 
knew her to be a child, loved her as a child. Nay, he 
trusted to the very innocence of a child’s soul, the 
bond that gratitude weaves, the faithfulness to duty 
that exists in an unprofaned mind. And he felt him- 
self a man to win a woman’s heart, as soon as he was 
permitted to claim it for his own. 

Be this as it may, Siegmund Faber no longer 
looked troubled, but as bright and happy as his little 
Dorl. He held out his hand to her, and asked smil- 
ing : “ Well, dear Dorothee .? ” 

She placed hers within it and bowed her little head 
in happy acquiescence. 


98 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


“Say amen, Fraulein Hardine, as witness and 
security for our contract,” exclaimed the young man 
turning to me. 

I did not say amen, but I pressed Siegmund 
Faber’s hand and embraced — God knows with a heavy 
heart — his radiant betrothed. 

Siegmund Faber also — that none of the forms of 
betrothal might be omitted — pressed his lips to Dor- 
othee’s brow, but hesitatingly, as if he feared to rouse 
a dangerous feeling in the child or in himself. Then 
again becoming as grave and earnest as he was at the 
beginning of this singular scene, he drew two gold 
rings from his hand, put one on his own ring finger, 
the other on that of his betrothed bride, and said : 

“ My parents’ wedding rings } If some day I stand 
before you with this ring on my finger, Dorothee 
you will know, without a word, that I can lead my 
wife to the altar in faith and honor.” 

At this moment my parents’ carriage drove up. I 
walked slowly to the house, and the two others, arm 
in arm, moved quickly and joyously towards the home 
of the betrothed bride. 

An almost beardless youth, a regimental surgeon’s 
assistant, who goes wandering into the world and 
gives away his inheritance to buy the heart of an 
unfledged girl ; a betrothal as sudden as a thunderbolt, 
a second half fledged girl summoned as a witness of the 
strange bond — my friends, as I draw this picture from 
the portfolio of the memories of almost half a cen- 
tury, it may well seem very foolish, perhaps childish 
in your eyes. But I assure you if you had known 
Siegmund Faber, you would not have smiled at my 


MOSJO per-s£ 


99 


emotion. And not only the inexperienced daughter, 
but the experienced parents saw no child’s play in 
Siegmund Faber’s hasty act. 

Our little Dorl is a Sunday child ! ” exclaimed my 
father. “ A Sunday child, into whose lap fortune 
falls as it does in dreams. And this Mosjo Per-se is 
a clever fellow to bind his bird by a gold chain.” 
But my cautious mamma, who probably felt a pang of 
maternal envy when she saw the tavern keeper’s little 
daughter become rich and a betrothed bride before 
her Hardine, answered : “No lawyer could have 
managed more cleverly than this young physician. 
Well or ill, the deed of gift binds the butterfly till her 
majority, that is till the dangerous season of youth is 
over, and at the marriage altar the generous giver 
receives his present back again.” 

The next day the legal document was executed 
exactly according to Faber’s promise, and in the 
grey dawn of the following morning the strange 
suitor mounted his horse and rode away. The last 
farewell to home was waved to Fraulein Hardine’s 
attic window and answered from there. 

“ Did you bid Herr Faber farewell last night ? ” I 
asked Dorothee, when soon after she entered my 
room. 

“No, Fraulein Hardine,” she stammered in evi- 
dent embarrassment, “ I meant to do so early this 
morning, but — I overslept myself.” 

So even the tears that it would have been decorous 
to shed at parting were spared our happy little 
betrothed. 

But how rapidly she worked that very day at clean- 


100 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


ing ana moving. Everything was turned topsy-turvy 
in the room, before whose window Herr Faber’s 
barber’s basins had glittered in the winter ; it was 
washed, scoured, the old furniture varnished and 
freshly covered. Soon a dainty canopied bed stood 
in the spot where Siegmund Faber had allowed him- 
self a few hours rest on a hard straw mattrass. In 
the corner formerly occupied by his rough book 
shelves, was a dainty cupboard filled with dolls which 
had delighted little Dorl’s childhood ; bright colored 
curtains and freshly gathered flowers adorned the 
window seat, a pair of finches kissed each other in a 
cage twined with green vines. No citizen’s daughter 
had a prettier little room, and how bare and plain 
Fraulein Hardine’s sober chamber looked beside it ! 

But the little house-owner, in her short skirts and 
high heeled shoes embroidered with spangles, flut- 
tered joyously up and down stairs. In one pocket 
was the paper horn of candies and sweetmeats 
which the child never allowed to be empty ; in 
the other the little purse from which a penny or 
kreuzer was thrown to every beggar. Then she 
went across to the tavern, where a stout maid servant 
had been engaged to attend to the work ; then through 
the gap in the hedge into the garden ; up to the arbor 
where she had been betrothed ; next to take a walk 
in the neighborhood ; then to peep into Fraulein 
Hardine’s chamber, or curtsey and kiss Baroness 
von Reckenburg’s hand in the sitting-room, smiling 
and dancing and singing from morning till night, 
good, happy, tireless little Dorl. 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. 


lOI 


CHAPTER III. 

THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. 

I HAD but a short time to watch the happy activity 
of our new house owner, for during these summer 
weeks an unexpected change occurred in my life. 

I have already mentioned that the old countess was 
godmother to both my father and myself and added that 
neither of us had ever received any token of remem- 
brance from the noble namesake nor, to tell the truth, 
missed any such proof of regard. Perhaps she would 
have taken a different course if the last scion of the 
old race had been a man. But a girl, the daughter 
of an impoverished side branch, how should the “ black 
head of the house,” in her princely splendor, remem- 
ber one in whom the name might be expected to 
vanish in obscurity.? Whoever the strange old 
woman’s heirs might be, we knew that the unassuming 
Captain von Reckenburg and his plainly educated 
daughter were not. 

Great, great beyond all expression therefore was 
the wonder when, during the latter part of the summer, 
a letter was received from the countess, written by 
her own hand, the first of its kind with which her 
white cousins had been honored. The words, trans- 
lated from the French, ran as follows : 


102 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


the Baroness and Baron von Reckenburg 
should feel disposed to permit their daughter Eber- 
hardine to become the Countess von Reckenburg’s 
guest during the next winter, her carriage will be in 
waiting (here the date and place were specified) to con- 
vey the young lady to Castle Reckenburg.” 

Unattractive as was the wording of this expression 
of interest, and difficult as it probably was for my 
parents to trust their only child, even for a short time 
to the care of a perfect stranger, the possibility of a 
refusal was not even taken into consideration. The 
countess was — well, she was simply the wealthy 
Countess von Reckenburg, and almost eighty years 
old. Fraulein von Reckenburg, on the contrary, 
was miserably poor, possessed few attractions to win 
a husband and, if she lost her father, would be thrown 
helpless upon the world. Many a motherly sigh 
of anxiety had probably been uttered in words within 
the private council chamber. A dowry, a legacy from 
the superabundance of her only relative, who to-day 
for the first time showed a certain degree of interest, 
could put an end to all sighs and anxieties. 

My father therefore accepted the invitation, though 
in the most dignified manner. Friendship and con- 
fidence would be given rather than received ; it was 
not the rich relative, but the godmother, who had a 
right to make the request, to whose wishes he 
yielded. 

The manner of gratifying them required longer 
consideration. The young lady could not travel 
alofie, nor go in the yellow post chaise ; her father 
could not accompany her, as he would have thought 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. IO3 

most suitable, for the time fixed in the invitation was 
the same as that appointed for a review, and my 
mother had been in delicate health for some time and 
was strictly forbidden by the physician to undertake 
the journey. 

The difficulty, however, was speedily solved, when 
‘'Nurse Justine” voluntarily offered her services as 
duenna and protector on the journey. For had it 
been necessary to travel hundreds of miles, instead of 
twelve, and spend twenty nights on the road instead 
of one, there was no one in the world to whom my 
mother would have entrusted her child with so much 
confidence as to our nurse Justine. 

Nurse Justine, most faithful of the faithful, you 
appear on this journey for the first time within the 
frame of my story, though it was your due to have 
been mentioned at the first step of the journey of life. 
You carried me in your hands to the light, rocked me 
when my mother’s arms were too weak to hold the 
“huge child,” and never was nursling watched with 
more loving glances than the last von Reckenburg by 
her nurse Justine. 

Justine had entered my parents’ service as 2,wacht- 
meister's widow, and with the assistance of the 
soldier, performed all the work, even when the care 
of a new born infant raised her to the rank of nurse. 
She had fulfilled all the duties of this worthy class, 
without claiming any of the corresponding privileges. 
Not until her “ Dinchen ” had outgrown the rod of a 
child’s nurse, did she exchange her laborious office 
for the at least more lucrative one of a mid- wife, but 
even then without losing sight of her nursling, for 


104 the last von reckenburg. 

she shared the new maid-servant’s chamber between 
the rooms occupied by the tutor and Purzel. 

She had no child of her own and was alone in the 
wide world ; so the little Hardine was her all in all, 
and may God forgive the great Hardine if the love 
she could not return, in equal measure, oppressed her 
in after years as a burden. Little Hardine was the 
apple of her eye, her one object in life, her hope, her 
pride. She saw her with prophetic eyes among the 
great of the earth, and in the future as an angel with 
golden wings before the throne of God. She may 
sometimes have seemed a little fierce and envious 
and quarrelsome to the rest of mankind ; but she 
was only fierce and envious and quarrelsome for the 
rights and privileges of herFraulein Hardine; for her 
Fraulein Hardine she thought and spun, saved and 
starved ; Fraulein Hardine became the heiress of the 
few hundred thalers she had accumulated by kreuzers. 

Nurse Justine was pious and well versed in the Bible, 
but the divine promise did not satisfy her where her 
darling’s earthly fate was concerned. The most 
mysterious hints must be explained for her, obscure 
oracles questioned, and the conclusion of every inves- 
tigation always resulted in good fortune, nothing but 
good fortune. Already the baptismal day, the third 
of the child’s life, had promised blessings ; the infant 
had sneezed violently three times while its little cap 
was being untied — that is, she was a wonder of 
intellect and talent ; she had struggled and screamed 
ungovernably under the baptismal water — that is, 
the treasures and gifts of the world awaited her. 
Since that hour Nurse Justine’s faith in the inheri- 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBBURG. 10$ 

tance of the von Reckenburg property was as strong 
as her belief in the gospel, and a day rarely passed with- 
out her having discovered something wonderful for 
her darling in her dreams or the shuffling of cards. 
A letter bringing good news was announced weeks be- 
fore the countess’ invitation so greatly astonished the 
inmates of the barber’s house. 

In one point alone, strangely enough, the myste- 
rious oracles would never harmonize with the wish 
dearest to my old nurse’s heart. Whenever the highly 
important question about the ‘‘future husband” was 
raised, the prophetess looked dejected but gave her 
young lady the significant warning to beware of 
“flayers and jokers.” After many an anxious trial 
my nurse seemed to have given up a victory over 
the king of hearts, but even the most promising combi- 
nations of kings was always at the last moment crossed 
by an insolent low diamond. 

But who was this inevitable low diamond, that so 
cruelly disturbed my old nurse’s rest.!* For a long 
time she had fixed an angry gaze upon our landlord’s 
silent, ambitious son, but since the latter’s sudden 
departure and the fortunate change in the circum- 
stances of his betrothed bride, her thoughts had been 
directed into another channel. The fatal low 
diamond need not be a man, nay it was far more 
probably a woman, and this woman no other than — 
our new house owner, Dorothee. 

Nurse Justine was not related to little Dorl, but 
nevertheless had the same name. Both bore the 
surname of Muller, but as nurse Justine was even 
prouder than the von Reckenburgs, she had watched 


io6 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


the kindness shown the little plebeian with ungra- 
cious eyes. “ Was there no child of noble blood who 
could be Dinchen’s companion ? ” she muttered at 
first, and in later years grumbled : “ Must it need be 
one with a better complexion, though not half so 
aristocratic and noble looking as Fraulein Hardine ? ” 
The gift of Faber’s property, and the sparkling en- 
gagement ring of course did not dispose her to any 
more kindly feeling, but since the threatening low 
diamond was discovered under the mask of the 
tavern keeper’s daughter, my nurse — even without 
the increased prospect of inheriting the Reckenburg 
estates — would have thought nothing more desirable 
than my temporary absence from home. 

Therefore she no sooner heard of my parents’ 
anxiety about the journey, than she declared that 
she would be my companion and not allow a hair of 
her young lady’s head to be ruffled on the way. Her 
proposal was accepted, and the weeks passed swiftly 
in all sorts of preparations. 

On Dorothee’s birthday, the 29th of September, 
the first tidings came from the distant lover ; a letter 
and a small box. She hastily opened the latter and 
uttered a cry of delight at the sight of the valuable 
garnet ear-rings sent as a birthday present. 

'‘And what does he write.?” I asked, after she 
had put the jewels in her little ears before the 
mirror. She hurriedly glanced over the letter and 
then handed it to me, saying, “ There is not much in 
it.” 

And in fact there was not much. The usual con- 
gratulations and vows of eternal love and constancy 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. 10/ 

expressed in somewhat old fashioned language. The 
words did not seem to come from the writer’s heart. 
A postscript stated that he should leave Berlin im- 
mediately to join the royal army in Silesia, and there, 
according to his wish, would be appointed to the 
Weimar regiment. As the august potentates had 
become reconciled, there would be no war at present 
but the writer had obtained beneficial employment 
in the chirurgical institute at Breslau, a favor he 
owed not only to the gracious intercession of his 
distinguished chief, but to the recommendation of a 
prominent ecclesiastical prince to whom he had had 
a letter of introduction from the university of Jena, 
and with whom he had had an extremely interesting 
interview about the method of instruction it would be 
best to adopt in the domain of surgery. 

(Note that Fraulein Original-text, who had the 
genealogical table of the Saxon Princes at her fingers’ 
ends, had never before heard of an ecclesiastical 
prince,” and vainly racked her brains about the 
name and nature of the person mentioned.) 

After the counter-march which would soon take 
place, he, the field surgeon in spe, hoped through the 
influence of this same remarkable man to obtain a 
long leave of absence and spend it in the university 
town of Gottingen, in the vicinity of his regiment, 
which would be stationed among the Hartz moun- 
tains. Thus until war again threatened to break 
forth, as would inevitably be the case, the writer 
would occupy a position where he could employ his 
time to the best advantage ! 

‘*Have you answered Herr Faber’s letter.^” I 


I08 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

asked Dorothee, the day before my departure. She 
blushed and shook her little head. 

“Then do so to-day,” I replied. 

“If I only knew what to say!” she murmured 
piteously, but obediently sat down and with tolerable 
rapidity began to express her thanks for the beauti- 
ful ear-rings. Then the stream ceased to flow. 
She bit her pen, sighed, and rubbed her forehead 
on which drops of perspiration were standing. 
“ Help me a little, Fraulein Hardine,” she at last 
said beseechingly. 

But that of course I did not do. On the 
contrary I went away, hoping she would succeed 
better alone. But the whole afternoon passed in 
the difficult task, and not until evening was the 
letter placed in my hands to read. “ Fraulein 
Hardine says this; Fraulein Hardine does that;” 
so ran sentence after sentence. There was not a 
word about her own heart and life. The most sin- 
gular first love-letter from a betrothed bride I But 
the child thanked Heaven that it was finished, hastily 
sealed it with a sechseVy* and carried the missive to 
the post-office at once. 

The morning of departure came. A journey, even 
if only twelve miles long, especially a first journey, 
appeared to us dwellers in a provincial city in the 
year ’90, almost like a death. People seemed so 
unattainable when they could no longer be touched 
with the hands, one might die and be buried before 
even a single cry for help had reached those left 
behind. 


* German coin. 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. IO9 

We sat around the breakfast table by candle light, 
no one touched a mouthful, no one spoke a word. 
Mamma and I bravely swallowed our tears, but my 
honest father gave free course to his, and little Dorl 
sobbed aloud. The day began to dawn, the one 
horse chaise drove up; the iron bound seal-skin 
trunk was fastened, boxes and baskets filled with 
provisions towered in piles, as if we were going round 
the world. The neighbors in slippers and night caps 
peeped out of their doors ; maid-servants with buckets 
of water on their backs or baskets of bread on their 
arms, children who had jumped out of bed in their 
night gowns crowded around our house. All wanted 
to see the captain’s daughter, who was going to visit 
a rich old aunt, get into the carriage. 

At last nurse Justine appeared with all the dignity 
of a duenna, attired in a dazzlingly white cap with 
lappets and her holiday apron of grass green taffeta. 
I was already seated in the carriage, and she had her 
foot on the step, when the prayer bell rang. No 
morning, noon nor evening did the nurse hear those 
three solemn strokes without falling on her knees to 
say the Lord’s prayer. Only when in the street did 
she content herself with thrice making the bow, with 
which in the house of God we paid homage to the 
name of our Lord and Saviour. But on this impor- 
tant day Nurse Justine bent her old knees in the 
open square. My father removed the white night- 
cap from his head and took from his mouth the clay 
pipe, from which he had hitherto convulsively puffed 
huge clouds of smoke ; my mother, Dorothee, and I 
clasped our hands in silent prayer. “ May God bless 


no 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


our going and coming ! ” exclaimed Nurse Justine 
aloud, as she rose from her knees. She climbed into 
the carriage and sat down, as was becoming, on the 
front seat opposite to her young lady. My father 
closed the door. Another “ good-luck,” and away we 
rattled over the rough pavement into a new, unknown 
world. 

Thanks to the resolute woman who had charge of 
the travelling arrangements, the three days’ journey 
took place without interruption. At the last stage, 
according to agreement, the von Reckenburg 
“ghost’s” gilt coach, with the immortal greys and 
equally immortal footmen, was waiting for us. 

You, my friends, have sometimes seen me make 
an excursion in the same heavily gilt glass box. I did 
it, as I have done and kept up many an inherited 
inconvenience, as a matter of comfort. It used to be 
hers, so it was good enough for me. But I also did 
so with the intention of gradually divesting the ugly 
thing of its ghostly nimbus. In this old box the 
countess made her entry into Reckenburg, and dur- 
ing the first part of her ownership of the estates was 
supposed to inspect her land from behind its curtains. 
In it I, as sole mourner, followed her corpse. That the 
greys and lackeys of 1750 and 1806 were not the 
same, but merely as much alike as possible, and only 
wore the silver-mounted harness and silver-laced 
livery of their very mortal predecessors, I need not 
assure you. 

And the immortality of the old black countess, like 
that of her greys and footmen, had, together with all 
her peculiarities, a very natural explanation. The 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. Ill 


person who, from inclination or expediency, withdraws 
from the bustle of every-day life, sinks into forgetful- 
ness or becomes a legendary character to his con- 
temporaries. 

Why yes, for nearly half a century she did not leave 
her inaccessible dusky hermitage, but it was because 
the sunlight dazzled her eyes and a badly healed 
broken bone made any movement painful. Yes, she 
spent whole nights sitting erect in her chair without 
sleeping, but it was because an asthmatic complaint 
only permitted her to take a few hours’ rest in the 
morning. Yes, for years she lived exclusively on 
water gruel and acorns, but only because her stomach 
would not endure more solid food. It was not, in 
some inexplicable manner, in spite of her diet, but 
in a very intelligible way because of it, that she pro- 
longed her existence far beyond the usual term allot- 
ted to mankind. The simpler the bounds within which, 
whether voluntarily or not, we limit our functions, 
the more tenacious becomes the thread of life. 
People who lack one or more senses usually live 
longer than those who have them all. Misers, that 
is people with ossified hearts, almost always become 
very old. 

And so let it be granted that the singular founder 
and supporter of the Reckenburg estates went to the 
grave as such an ossified miser. But how from a 
splendid beginning she could come to such a miser- 
able end, will be explained to you by a glance at her 
life, which was first disclosed to my eyes after her 
death through some letters. 

Eberhardine von Reckenburg had received nothing 


II2 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


from her father except the ruins of his family castle 
in a marshy, out of the way corner of the forest. But 
on her mother’s side she was an heiress. Orphaned 
while in the cradle, her property increased threefold 
under a judicious guardianship, as the Electress, her 
god-mother, had her educated in her own household, 
and afterwards appointed her maid of honor. On 
attaining her majority she found herself in possession 
of a fortune which, in her time, was considered 
princely. 

Naturally clever and ambitious, she possessed the 
intelligence to measure this value according to the 
contrast between it and the impoverished nobility at 
the court. She was considered beautiful and believed 
herself so, but she saw many of her equals and others 
with still greater pretensions, after a carnival or two, 
vanish from the stage, crowded out of sight and for- 
gotten, unless some other power than beauty afforded 
a lasting support. That there was no question of 
virtue as such a support in the days of Augustus III., 
need not be discussed here, but noble, blood also 
afforded no security for the purest lineage, at best 
only procured a faded beauty admittance into an 
asylum for young ladies. A barrel of gold was the 
only firm pedestal. Among entertainments and 
gambling, the unscrupulous expenditure of a Briihl and 
his mad imitators, there was at the court of Saxony a 
young girl, who with secret scorn held her purse- 
strings firmly in her hands and understood how to in- 
crease her inheritance with the cool calculation of a 
man. No matter if the card houses around her did 
crumble, she stood firm, she might mount higher. 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. II3 

Day after day a suitor appeared for the hand of the 
best match in the country. Not one satisfied her 
ambition. She had reached the age of thirty without 
making a choice. “ The right one will come ! ” she 
said to herself, when she had closed her account book 
and put a patch on her rouged cheek to attend her 
mistress — now the successor of the Brandenburg 
Eberhardine — to a fete given by the inexhaustibly 
inventive, all powerful minister. 

And the right man came at the right time, before 
the last flower of youth had withered. What do you 
know, my friends, among the innumerable landless 
sons of the royal families of this German nation, of a 
Prince Christian } And what need you know of him, 
except that he was a handsome man, and according 
to the ideas of his times, a man of spirit, that is, an 
aristocratic libertine after the pattern of the Marechal 
de Saxe — only that he could boast of no Fontenay 
or Rocour — that he returned to the court of Saxony, 
whose ruler was a kinsman, either to have a period of 
rest after all sorts of adventures, or to open new 
sources of supplies after having exhausted the patri- 
mony he had inherited. The royal kinsman was 
weary of repeated bleedings, the search for an heiress 
of equal rank proved lost trouble. Briihl therefore 
thought he was performing a master piece of strategy, 
by directing the eyes of the troublesome protege to 
the still handsome, and so far as character was con- 
cerned, faultless maid of honor, the Baroness von 
Reckenburg, as one of the best matches in Germany. 

Whether the cautious young lady would have re- 
sisted the captivating coqueluche if he had been merely 


1 14 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

her equal in rank, is uncertain. But he was a prince, 
entitled to woo an emperor’s daughter, and she could 
not resist the charm. You children of another cen- 
tury have no standard for judging opinions, which 
raised even the smallest hanger on of a throne far 
above all the rules that govern the conduct of 
ordinary mortals, and absolved the anointed of the 
Lord even from the duty of obeying the table of laws ; 
opinions which held the nobility of the most dissolute 
dunce of royal blood greater than that won in the 
crusades. After an unexampled destruction during 
the devastating Thirty Years War, time in our native 
country had, as it were, stood still, and the period of 
the greatest ignorance on the part of the common 
people, the utmost degeneracy of the nobility, had 
not yet expired. The clock to make a new era was 
first wound up under the sword and sceptre of the 
Prussian Frederick. 

The prince of the blood could offer no equal marriage 
to the rich and noble lady ; she was not permitted to 
bear his name, her children — if he had had anything to 
leave — would not have been eligible to succeed him. 
But the position of a prince’s wife, even if the mar- 
riage were only morganatic, would raise her to the 
position of “Reich Countess^ von Reckenburg,” a rank 
next to that of the families allied to the throne by 
ties of blood ; her ambition saw no means of attaining 
a higher goal, and so the original passion became a 
magnetic current which kindled a quenchless flame 
in the heart that had so long been cold. How could 


* Countess of the Empire. 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. II5 

the hand a princely husband kissed with gallant fer- 
vor continue to anxiously cluteh the strings of her 
purse? Pride, the mistress, had attained her object; 
Prudence, the maid, was dismissed from service. 

Soon housekeeping was commenced in the capital 
on a scale of splendor in accordance with the hus- 
band’s rank. The young couple joined the adherents 
of the reigning Electress-queen, and with them be- 
came the enemies of the all-powerful favorite. Hatred 
kindled a spirit of rivalry, and it was perhaps the only 
drop of wormwood in Eberhardine’s cup of honey, 
that she could not enable her adored prince to live in 
the same luxury as an upstart, who kept hundreds of 
footmen and a body guard of his own, who as Frederic 
the Great says, possessed more valuables, laces, slip- 
pers, etc., than anyone in Europe, and with the cun- 
ning of a crafty slave, carried the idle sultan’s caprices 
of his so-called master to the verge of ruin. 

If the contrast was irritating during the winter in 
the capital, how much more so it became when 
summer arrived with its rural fetes, autumn with its 
one royal passion, the chase. Probably no year 
elapsed, that the inventive minister did not arrange 
some fairy entertainment or wild boar’s hunt for his 
master in a magnificent new building, that seemed 
to have sprung from the earth. The parvenu num- 
bered his pleasure castles and preserves of game by 
the dozen ; the prince of the blood did not possess a 
hand’s breadth of ground, and even his wife’s wealth 
was not invested in lands. 

In this dilemma ruinous old Reckenburg was re- 
membered, and as romantic natural beauty was of as 


Il6 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

little importance as productive soil, discovered to be 
a most desirable possession — a navigable stream 
near a tract of woodland, containing such a stock of 
game that all the efforts of the peasants could not 
protect their scanty crops. They enjoyed a priori in 
imagination, the sails in gondolas, the wild boar and 
deer hunts, which were to be arranged on the ancient 
Reckenburg estates as soon as a new edifice, far more 
stately than any of Bruhl’s creations, had been erected 
on the site of the crumbling ruins of the old castle. 

To be sure this new edifice required years of labor ; 
years, whose summers for want of a residence in 
accordance with the prince’s rank, were spent in 
traveling. But what a temptation it was to supply 
themselves, in the most polished countries of Europe, 
with all the productions of luxury and fashion to 
adorn their home ! 

At last the ardently desired palace was erected ; 
the last marble cornice, the last piece of wainscoting 
inserted ; stucco work and carving. Gobelin tapestry 
and brocade, and above all, the escutcheons contain- 
ing the combined coat of arms of the prince and 
baroness surmounted by a count’s coronet, were no- 
where spared. The young hedges in the pleasure 
garden were growing ; fauns and cupids spouted wel- 
coming jets of water ; cellars and store rooms were 
filled to overflowing ; a succession of entertainments 
was to celebrate the entry of the noble pair. 

Then, at the last hour, the abyss into which the 
beloved husband’s constancy had fallen with the con- 
tents of the wife’s purse was suddenly revealed. An 
accident raised the veil. But had the whirl of 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. 11/ 

pleasure really blinded the sharp sighted woman so 
long ? Or did she not voluntarily close her eyes, 
while a single drop remained in her cup of joy ? 
I am inclined to believe the latter. She would have 
starved with this man, she would have starved for 
him, nay, she would have endured his faithlessness if 
he could have been detained at her side. But the 
fading beauty saw the gold chains with which she 
had bound the spoiled sensualist melting away. An- 
other year of this boundless expenditure and she 
would be a deserted beggar. So she consented to a 
divorce, as the only way of saving, not her former 
splendor, but the bare means of existence. The gay 
gentleman rejoiced in a freedom which permitted him 
to seek with his divining rod a new fountain of wealth. 

While he again led the changeful life of his youth 
in Italy and Russia, then the nurseries of both prince- 
ly and plebeian adventurers, to-day a soldier and to- 
morrow a Celadon, the countess steadily marked out 
her future career. She was more than forty years 
old, no longer beautiful, and according to her stand- 
ard, poor. What marvel that she was disgusted with 
the world, that it had become hateful to her ? So 
she entered upon the inheritance bequeathed by her 
father, with the determination to. change the soil into 
a mine from which to replenish her exhausted 
treasury. 

Outwardly the rank she had obtained must be 
supported, the usual splendor of living maintained, 
the hated world, and especially her still beloved 
prince deceived in regard to her real penury. He 
should feel what pleasures he had so lightly re- 


Il8 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

signed. This was the cause of the whim which, in 
the eyes of the world, distinguished her from a real 
miser, the whim of keeping and using everything she 
had found on entering her new residence, even if it 
had become useless to her personal needs, and in- 
stead of bearing interest, demanded a sacrifice. No 
human eye, least of all the countess’, found pleasure 
in gazing at the extensive gardens around the castle, 
but the hedges and pyramids were regularly clipped, 
the paths and flower-beds kept in the neatest order, 
the injuries the statues and ornaments received from 
the weather and time constantly repaired. No enter- 
tainments were given, no guests received at Recken- 
burg, but the qukntity of table furniture and also the 
useless valuables, which if converted into money in 
those times of scarcity, would have yielded a by no 
means insignificant capital, remained undisturbed, 
except when periodically taken out to be cleansed 
from rust and dust. Nay, even the provisions in the 
store rooms and cellar were restored as quickly as 
possible, the moment a portion was used, no matter 
whether the remainder hardened, grew yellow, and 
with the utmost care could not be protected from 
worms and decay. This was the cause of the im- 
mortality of the no longer used greys and majestic 
footmen. The revenge of this singular maintainer 
of grandeur was to become rich, and while doing so, to 
to keep up the semblance of wealth. The innate 
clever power of collecting and increasing, heightened 
by time into an over-mastering passion, again as- 
serted its claims. 

The work undertaken by this lonely woman, who 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. 1 19 

had grown old in the atmosphere of a luxurious court, 
was that performed by a colonist in a primeval forest. 
No one suspected how entirely her property was ex- 
hausted nor how imperatively her personal economies 
were demanded, and therefore no one has fully appre- 
ciated the prudence, strength, and endurance with 
which she performed her life task. 

People now rejoice in the fruitfulness of a region, 
which a hundred years ago was a marshy woodland, 
and I often with shame hear myself praised as its 
creator. But I have only stepped upon my prede- 
cessor’s shoulders ; the foundation, the task of over- 
coming the inexpressible difficulty of making the soil 
productive, was her work. She drained the marshes 
and dug the canals, marked the boundaries of the for- 
est, laid out good roads, erected commodious build- 
ings for husbandry, discovered new means of making 
wet fields productive, built the large dike that protects 
the land from the frequent inundations of the river. 
She had the toil, I the reward and gratitude, because 
she placed me in a position so secure that I could in- 
troduce reforms throughout the whole neighborhood ; 
she reaped mockery and fear, / the blessing, which, 
bestowed by the labor of the individual on the com- 
munity, is returned by the community to the indi- 
vidual, that first blessing of all creating, whether 
great or small, which has helped even me, a lonely 
woman, to a contented life. 

Scarcely had the dauntless pioneer struggled through 
the hardest toil, scarcely had her seeds put forth 
their first fruits, when the war broke out, a war 
that pressed on few portions of our native land more 


120 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

severely than this region. What I experienced dur- 
ing the summer of 1813, this woman endured seven 
years. Where I was permitted to draw from my 
abundance, she saw the best portion of her foundation 
destroyed, and at an age when others seek rest, again 
began her work undismayed. 

And what courage, what resolution, the solitary 
woman displayed in her conduct towards the rabble 
of both hostile and friendly armies ; how bravely she 
defended herself against the hordes of marauders and 
native robbers, who, long after peace was concluded, 
infested our forests. It is literally true, that the 
black countess, with a loaded pistol in each hand, and 
her two huge lackeys, also armed, behind her, defended 
the threshold of her home from this disorderly rabble. 

This heroic deed may be considered the germ of 
the marvelous tales, that gradually became current 
about the strange countess. The ghostly form in- 
creased in size, when the bodily one suddenly van- 
ished even from the place where it had hitherto 
been supposed to be — the closely curtained gilt 
coach, in which she made her visit of inspection 
around her estate. From that time our peasants saw 
her, attired in a Spanish costume, watching the treas- 
ures of her hermitage day and night with dragon 
eyes, and defending them with fiery weapons. Bound- 
less treasures ! The more the figures increased, the 
more dazzling they became to the starving, idle 
throng, who only understood how to calculate hellers* 
and kreuzers, and had never received heller nor 
kreuzer from the grasping old woman’s hand. 


* Small copper coin. 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. 12 1 

Whether the countess ever heard of the fabulous 
nimbus surrounding her, I do not know. But un- 
doubtedly it would have been welcome, rather than 
annoying, since it offered a protection against a 
troublesome or threatening world. Her careful eye 
had selected the eastern turret of the castle for her 
sleeping room and treasure chamber because, while 
wholly inaccessible from without, it also afforded the 
greatest possible security from within. Workmen, 
ordered from a great distance, had fitted fire-proof 
safes, with intricate locks, into the deep niches. The 
‘‘gold-tower” was connected by a secret door with 
the room occupied by the old, trusty maid, and 
through this with the corridor, in which the two foot- 
men, who alternately kept watch, were the only 
means of communication between the tower and the 
rest of the house, while the mistress kept her accounts 
behind locks and bars, or concealed documents and 
ready money in the secret iron chests. Her health 
failed ; her strength to work lessened, and the burden 
of toil increased. Soon it was no longer possible to 
leave the important room ; for after the conclusion 
of peace the judicious outlay, though it did not equal 
the wonderful measure of popular superstition, re- 
turned a hundredfold profit on the investment. 

During the war she had sent the larger portion of 
her jewelry to England to be converted into money, 
as this sacrifice of former splendor was least con- 
spicuous in her present mode of life. The proceeds 
obtained, my friends, were the foundation of her sup- 
posed marvelous treasures. A modest sum, but it 
became a luck penny at a time when the value of land 


122 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


was reduced to a minimum, when communities and 
individuals sold their property at a nominal sum, since 
they could get no hands to till nor seed to sow. In ten 
years the area of the Reckenburg estate doubled, in 
twenty it increased fourfold. Even if a sum could 
only be paid in instalments, a regular interest was a 
much desired boon in those times of scarcity. 

The manner in which the general poverty tended 
to enrich individuals, is shown among other things by 
the famine of the year ’70, wh^n a bushel of rye rose 
in price to twenty thalers. Calculate how the well- 
filled granaries of Reckenburg — which fixed the 
standard of prices in a very variable time — must 
have emptied, and the empty money-chests filled. 
Where doves build their nest, doves flutter away. 

The first hundred thousand thalers cost severe 
toil. But he who labors for the next nine hundred 
thousand is a simpleton ! ” 

When in her last days the millionaire of Recken- 
burg, with sparkling eyes, made this avowal, she was 
really the ossified mummy whose heart only beat to 
guard her treasure. But at the time she wearily 
toiled to obtain this treasure, and even in the days 
when she first initiated me into the secret of her gold 
tower, she was not this heartless, mindless mummy, 
for then she was working, starving, accumulating for 
a purpose ; or, to speak more correctly, for a person. 

And this is the ground, my friends, on which I 
have drawn before your eyes — though for a long 
time not so exactly as I desired — the line between 
the last two women who bore the name of Recken- 
burg. Y ou ought to know what the woman did, who 


THE BLACK COUNTESS VON RECKENBURG. 123 

made your home productive ; what the woman was, 
who left no trace of her existence in any heart save 
mine, and in the tenacious imagination of the peas- 
ants passed for an avaricious fiend. You ought to 
see this woman in a good light, and in what fairer one 
could I have shown her to two happy lovers, than 
that of changeless fidelity to the faithless husband, 
the secret fire which had been the motive of all her 
acts and labors. 

She had rudely broken all former ties and only 
maintained a correspondence with one old friend, who 
occupied a confidential position at the court of 
Saxony, in order to be constantly kept informed of 
the movements of the restless wanderer. She there- 
fore knew that he was rioting and carousing, while 
she did not allow herself an hour’s rest in her eager- 
ness to repair what he had destroyed. She knew 
that he remained overloaded with debt, while she had 
again become the rich lady of Reckenburg. But if 
he had, even as a supplicant, approached the house 
whose splendor she had maintained by so much toil, 
after the triumph of this satisfaction, she would have 
welcomed him as master with delight, again given 
him the key of her treasury, and commenced her 
work afresh, in order, even after her death, to secure 
him a princely property. 

For many years the hope of his return had sus- 
tained her in her solitary toil, and she had become a 
wrinkled matron ere it was fulfilled. At last she 
knew that he was in his native country — and the 
next news she received was of his marriage with a 
lady of equal birth ! On the confines of old age, he 


124 LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

had apparently obeyed the impulse of a genuine love, 
for the young princess was as poor as himself. 

The strength which had resisted so many toils and 
dangers, gave way at this unexpected blow. The 
countess’ maid found her lying senseless on the floor, 
with the fatal letter in her hand. A fracture of the 
hip, sustained during this fall, made her a cripple for 
the remainder of her life. 

Yet, after a torturing defeat, her first clear thought 
was again for the faithless husband. Nay, after an 
interval of nearly a year, all her hopes were once more 
revived by the almost simultaneous intelligence that 
he was a father and a widower. Now he must surely 
come to seek with her a home and inheritance for his 
motherless son. 

It was the last hope her beloved prince was to dis- 
appoint. The next letter brought the tidings of his 
second departure ; the following one the news of his 
death. He had fallen in the Crimean campaign of 
’71, under the banner of his patroness, Catharine. 

The countess put on mourning and never laid it 
aside. She was and remained the widow of a prince. 
She worked, starved, and accumulated as before. A 
reflection of the flame which had illuminated her life 
still lingered ; she was working, starving, and accu- 
mulating for a poor, unknown, forsaken child. 

What do you say now, my friends, to the ghostly 
old countess of Reckenburg ? 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. 


125 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. 

Of course I did not know a single word of this 
long story of love and sorrow, when I proudly and 
joyously entered the gilt coach to be conveyed to the 
presence of the noble representative of my family, 
the widow of a prince. Nurse Justine’s cap towered 
beside the long periwig of the ancient coachman on 
the high seat before me. The gigantic footman clung 
to the long tassels behind the carriage, and away 
rolled the magnificent equipage over the lonely road 
to Reckenburg. 

It led over level ground through dense pine forests, 
occasionally touching the shore of the stream. I had 
grown up in a fruitful, leafy valley, between whose 
rocky sides a smaller river wound gracefully along, 
and the less romantic region through which I had 
passed for two days, had greatly wearied me. But 
now, in the gilt coach, it seemed to me the most in- 
teresting spot in the world ; the calm, broad surface 
of water awed me, and I inhaled with delight the 
spicy odor of the pines, which I had not noticed 
before. It was the Reckenburg family estate, from 
which the aroma streamed. 

After about an hour we approached the clearing 
which had been made for the new edifice. The huts 


126 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


in the village were fortunately concealed by the for- 
est, for their wretchedness would have considerably 
lessened my proud satisfaction. It was already tem- 
pered when, near the entrance of the park, we met a 
group of ragged, stunted figures, who stared at me as 
if I had been some sea-monster. I supposed them to 
be beggars, whom I had always despised and avoided 
as sluggards. The following day, however. Nurse 
Justine informed me that they were peasants and 
socagers from the village, who had been attracted by 
the “evil thing” of a gilt coach, which had not 
appeared before for an age. 

The gigantic footman sprang down to open the 
gate, adorned with a coat of arms, and instantly 
locked it again. The wide avenue leading through 
the neatly kept, richly ornamented pleasure grounds 
stretched before my eyes. In the back ground rose 
the castle, over whose reddish hue the setting sun 
cast a golden light. The white marble cornices, the 
lofty plate glass windows, the terrace adorned with 
statues and vases, before which we stopped, the pil- 
lars supporting the main entrance, did not fail to pro- 
duce an impression. During this drive I understood 
the indifference of the owner of this princely property 
to her unpretending cousins in the barber’s house. 
But it must not be inferred that I felt oppressed or 
intimidated in going to meet the relative who was so 
much more richly endowed by fortune. I, too, was a 
Reckenburg, and never, except as an invited guest, 
would I have crossed this proud threshold. 

Accompanied by my footman, I mounted the broad 
marble staircase. Each door through which I passed 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. 


127 


was carefully bolted, as if behind a prisoner. I 
entered the long vestibule, upon which the suite of 
rooms opened. The gold framed mirrors between 
the window niches, the mythological reliefs and fres- 
coes on the opposite wall — you pass these works of 
art with a patronizing smile, arrogant pupils of an- 
other taste, but you may imagine that they astonished 
the simplicity of former days. 

At the end of the corridor, mounting guard, stood 
the footman on duty, as like my conductor as a twin 
brother. Silently as the former — everything was 
silent, still as the grave in this enchanted palace — he 
opened the last door. I entered an anteroom, which 
formed the only entrance to the far famed tower (the 
eastern rotunda” as it was then called). On the right 
of the ante room was the dining hall. These three 
rooms, Her excellency the countess’ suite of apart- 
ments ” were the only ones in the extensive front of 
the castle which had ever been occupied. Those 
inhabited by the household were in the western wing. 

The body guard had rapped loudly three times on 
the door of the tower with the gold head of his cane 
and then retired to his post. I was alone and even 
now not timid, but curious to see what would happen 
next. I laid aside my travelling wraps, and looked 
over the garden to the tops of the distant pines, be- 
hind which the sunset glow was fading. Amid the 
fantastic shapes of the trees and sculptured stones at 
my feet the October mist rose and hovered to and fro 
in grotesque forms ; and as I stood in the dim light 
of this dark, silent room, the first and I believe the 
last thrill of ghostly terror I ever experienced in my 
life, ran through my limbs. 


128 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


Half an hour had probably elapsed in this way, I 
had grown heartily tired of the anteroom and the 
romantic view ; then I heard a bolt drawn back, the 
tapping of a crutch ; and finally a wheezing cough on 
the threshold of the tower chamber. My distinguished 
hostess had entered. 

My parents, if they knew the ideas current about 
their only relative, had wisely kept them from me. 
My instructions were simply to treat a very aged, and 
therefore eccentric, possibly haughty, and somewhat 
economical lady with respect. 

Yet it is true that my flesh crept at the object, 
which gradually developed into a human form. Oh ! 
you wise preacher of the transitoriness of everything 
mortal, what is man in his majesty } 

Eberhardine von Reckenburg, once celebrated as a 
beauty at the most critical court in Germany, and 
now bent like a bow, gasping for breath as she moved 
painfully forward on crutches, trembling with inward 
cold like a leaf in a November storm, her face, scarcely 
a hand’s breadth wide, shrivelled into a thousand lit- 
tle wrinkles, like a yellow parchment in some old 
convent. 

And yet ! All that in those days had existed under 
the lovely husk, still lived beneath the wrinkled skin, 
and the black eyes sparkled with as bold, keen, and 
clear a light, as much secret passion, as in the times 
of Augustus. One flash of those penetrating eyes, 
and the inmost nook, the most private corner of her 
poor god-child’s soul were laid bare, so far as nooks 
^nd corners existed in the said soul. 

The singular little figure was clothed in black from 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. 


29 


head to foot, in a style of costume which at masked 
balls we call a domino. Over a trailing underdress 
hung a short, full cloak, finished around the neck 
with a thick frill. On the widow’s cap was throned a 
round hat with a floating plume. In after years, even 
when on the most familiar terms, I never saw the 
countess without her ‘‘ Spanish ” hat and cloak or her 
gloves. They were warm and comfortable and gave 
her, in her own eyes, a dignity which the hood and 
dressing gown would have destroyed. But I shall 
not be blamed, if the first impression in the dim light 
of the ghostly palace caused me a slight feeling of 
alarm. 

However, I was not in the habit of yielding to vague 
apprehensions ; and before the countess regained her 
breath after taking her seat in her arm-chair, had re- 
covered my self-possession. I boldly approached her, 
kissed her hand, and curtsied in the correct style of a 
von Reckenburg in the presence of a royal personage, 
as I had been directed. 

The countess, like many persons who live alone and 
are somewhat deaf, had acquired the habit of express- 
ing her opinions or ideas aloud, and to this uncon- 
scious talking I owed many a disclosure, which she 
would not have made voluntarily. In uttering her 
remarks to-day, however, she was perfectly indifferent 
whether I heard them or not. 

Heavily moulded, but good fresh blood ! ” she 
said after a scrutinizing glance, nodding her head. 

A white one ! We of the black line were hand- 
somer and more delicate. A passable figure ! Where 
did you learn to dance .? ” she asked, turning to me. 

My father taught me, Your Excellency.” 


130 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

A Saxon cadet. Good school ! ” was the coun- 
tess’ comment. 

Second question. Do you understand French ? ” 

“My mother has always talked with me in French, 
Your Excellency! ” 

“ Repeat a few sentences. No matter what.” 

Nothing occurred to me at that moment except the 
last thing I had committed to memory ; a fable de- 
scribing the blessing which comes to posterity from 
the labor of the aged. Without thinking whether 
this selection was appropriate or not, I declaimed my 
octogenaire plantant from beginning to end. 

Ingenuity absolue ! ” the countess remarked with 
a movement of the lips which was probably intended 
for a smile. “ The accent is passably pure I ” she 
added nodding. “Your mother, when a young girl, 
spent a great deal of her time at the court of Dres- 
den. A judicious education ! We will speak French 
together, Eberhardine I ” 

“ As you desire. Your Excellency.” 

“ You may call me aunt,” said the countess. 

As, to express my gratitude for this mark of favor, 
I kissed her hand a second time, the tall footman 
announced : “ Madame la cointesse est servi ! ” 

“A second plate for my niece, Jacques,” said the 
countess. 

Ah I Eberhard and Adelheid, wise augurs in edu- 
cation ! But for the toil of your dancing lessons, my 
good father, but for your labor in teaching me a for- 
eign language, my clever mother. Heaven knows in 
what corner of her ancestors’ family seat the last von 
Reckenburg would have dined, and how entirely she 
might now feel satisfied with her reception I 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. I3I 

So at the hour we usually ate our supper at home, 
I followed my new aunt to the dining hall. Its furni- 
ture corresponded with the splendor of the rest of the 
castle. Candles, whose brownish yellow hue proved 
that they belonged to the stores purchased nearly 
fifty years before, were burning in the candelabra. 
The silver, though somewhat worn, showed that it 
had originally been very massive, the smallest article 
bore the stamp of the house — the two coats of arms 
surmounted by the count’s coronet. To be sure noth- 
ing but pure Reckenburg water was poured into the 
Venetian glasses, and the Japanese china contained 
nothing more dainty than red Reckenburg grits. As 
a dessert, a cup of acorn tea was handed to the older 
lady on a silver waiter, and to the younger an apple. 
But don’t be anxious, children ! On the journey I 
had helped myself liberally from the basket of pro- 
visions packed at home, and afterwards at Recken- 
burg always had food enough, although in those days, 
as well as now, I possessed an excellent appetite. If, 
which Heaven forbid, yours should become feeble in 
old age, I can recommend water gruel and acorn tea 
as an excellent restorative. 

In this place I may be permitted to make a second 
remark, by way of parenthesis. If no member of the 
countess’ household ever voluntarily left her service, 
which was punctiliously and silently performed accord- 
ing to her wishes, while the majority reached a good 
old age in it, I prefer instead of the old womens’ 
stories of bewitched tongues and bowels, the com- 
mon sense conclusion that the aforesaid servants, 
besides being paid good wages, had their stomachs 
and mouths well filled with food. 


132 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


The meal was eaten in silence and soon finished. 
While I followed the countess to the antechamber, I 
noticed with what conscientious haste the gigantic 
Jacques put out the candles. The countess dis- 
missed me with the words : “ Farewell until to-morrow 
noon. Amuse yourself as well as you can. The ante- 
room will be at your service and is always warm.” 

I kissed the hand she extended to me, and with a 
low curtsey went towards the door. 

You need no assistance in your toilette, do you } ” 
the old lady called after me. I answered in the nega- 
tive. ‘‘ Don’t delay before going to bed, bolt the door 
and put out the light at once.” 

So saying she groped her way into her hermitage, 
and I heard the bolt rattle within. Then Monsieur 
Jacques, after locking the antechamber, conducted 
me along the corridor to the ‘‘new tower” or “west- 
ern rotunda,” as it was called in those days. A wind- 
ing staircase connected it with the rooms occupied by 
the household, and the chamber opened for me was 
the only one in the front, and seemed to have origi- 
nally been intended for a servant’s room. The walls 
were only whitewashed, the floor was made of rough 
planks, there was no stove, and it had no furniture — 
except a table, a chair, a clothes press, the most neces- 
sary washing utensils, and a bed which could boast of 
no down pillows nor silk quilt. The contrast with my 
attic room at home was not too great, but I dared not 
think of little Dorl’s pleasant chamber. 

I was accustomed to strict obedience, and have 
always cheerfully yielded where I could not com- 
mand. So I threw off my clothes, put out the tallow 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. 


133 


candle my conductor had left, and undisturbed by any 
ghostly vision or even a dream, slept for seven hours 
as quietly as I have always done all my life up to this 
day. 

But one who goes to bed with the hens, must wake 
with them. The stars were shining when I awoke, 
and as soon as morning dawned I dressed. What 
should I do now ? At my request the body-guard in 
the vestibule opened the door of the side staircase, 
and I went down into the garden. I soon wandered 
into the forest and fields, and for the first time saw 
the sun rise in the open country, clear and bright as 
the eye of God. 

Methodical walks were neither a necessity nor a 
fashion in my time, and would even now seem a very 
troublesome recreation. But to wander at will over 
the country among the peasants, watch the quiet 
labor of nature, although the last before her winter 
rest, the alterations in men, the strength and resist- 
ance here as well as there ; — and all this on an estate 
which had been in the family for generations — it 
was a nod/e taste, which dawned upon me this first 
morning in the fields of Reckenburg, a taste which 
has made me happy all my life. 

Then for the first time I perceived the method of 
managing a large domain ; saw how the wood was 
felled and the timber dragged to the river, saw the 
charcoal burning and turf cutting, the last remains of 
the second crop of hay, and the latest fruits carefully 
stored. I saw the fields newly tilled to receive the 
winter seeds, the herds grazing on the meadows and 
fallows, the free, joyous gambolling of the deer in the 
enclosed preserves. 


134 


THE LAST VON REClCENBURO. 


I talked with shepherds, laborers, and overseers 
about the work allotted to each, made friends with 
the sensible old head-forester, and became acquainted 
with the other employees. The fresh young girl, 
who bore the name of Reckenburg and pressed so 
suddenly from the silent castle into the outside world 
with her eager curiosity, was received with friendly 
confidence ; and though not on the first day, in time 
even the poor villagers lost the fear that this vigorous 
young life would be petrified in the death-like atmos- 
phere of the castle. 

I had never reaped a richer harvest in Christlieb 
Taube’s school-room, never felt more at home in the 
barber’s old house, than during this first walk over 
the Reckenburg estate, and when towards noon I 
returned to the castle. Nurse Justine met me with 
good news. Her Excellency the Countess had been 
attacked in the night by a severe illness, and as her 
waiting-maid’s limbs proved too stiff and tremulous 
for the necessary manipulations, the skilled travelling 
duenna was called to assist. Meister Faber’s pupil 
had had a brilliant success in applying for the first 
time in a castle cupping glasses and other remedies 
less agreeable to mention, and the noble patient — 
finding herself relieved more quickly than ever before 
— proposed that Nurse Justine should spend the 
winter at Reckenburg at a fixed salary. The faithful 
soul, without the slightest hesitation, sacrificed her 
certain practice at home to this doubtful offer. Her 
eyes sparkled with joy. She felt that through her 
own mediation her proudest dreams would be realized, 
for under such circumstances a person listens to 
reason and becomes as soft as wax. 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. 


35 


So I should not lose by a pleasant exchange, and 
still another more substantial advantage soon resulted 
from it. The room in the side building assigned to 
the important nurse adjoined mine ; it was lighted 
and warmed ; therefore when shut out from the coun- 
tess’ apartments, I could occupy myself a few hours 
as I pleased, and was no longer compelled to go to 
bed with the hens. 

The bill of fare for dinner was by no means limited 
to the grits of supper. That day, for instance, after 
an excellent soup, a chicken was served, which, with 
the exception of a small piece of the breast, fell to my 
share. For dessert we had apples, roasted for the 
countess, raw for me. Wine was also placed on the 
table. But the old lady could not drink any kind of 
liquor, and took it for granted that the young lady 
did not like it. The bottles were therefore removed 
unopened, to be replaced on the table the following 
day, and it is possible that the very same ones 
played their part at the first and last of the dinners 
I shared. 

The time spent at the meal was also longer than at 
supper ; perhaps because there were no wax candles 
to be extinguished. We sat nearly an hour over the 
acorn coffee, and I produced a good impression by 
the description of my walk through the fields. 

You have sharp Reckenburg eyes,” said the coun- 
tess. “ Keep them open and tell me honestly what 
you see.” 

These words indicated my future office — to watch 
closely, make a truthful report, and moreover be the 
verbal means of communication between the tower 


136 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

and estate : this is the substance of my long agricul- 
tural apprenticeship at Reckenburg. 

“ However,” the countess continued after a pause, 
‘^the time you can spend out of doors is growing 
shorter, and many an hour in the castle may seem 
lonely, Eberhardine. Console yourself by thinking 
that at least your home would have offered nothing 
more agreeable. Your parents are too poor to spend 
the season in Dresden, and the society of a provincial 
city would only annoy you. It is better to be lonely 
than in a false position. Besides, I could not answer 
for your success even in that modest circle, and what 
pleasure does society afford without success ? Are 
you fond of reading, Eberhardine ? ” 

I confessed that I had read nothing at all. as yet, 
but had long desired an opportunity to obtain books. 

“Then take advantage of the castle library,” replied 
the countess. “ It contains everything valuable in 
literature up to the middle of the century. I myself 
have no longer taste nor time for reading. Take care 
not to injure the bindings, and put the books back in 
their places. The arrangement must not be dis- 
turbed. The catalogue will make it easy for you to 
choose. Try the novels, they will not hurt fon. Ati 
co7ttraire ! If you want anything newer, or German 
books instead of French, apply to the pastor. I do 
not know him personally, but he seems — though 
somewhat of an enthusiast — to be a well-informed 
man. Seek him out, apply to him. Your mind is no 
soil for philanthropic fancies, but they have their 
value as subjects for consideration ? ” 

So another well of life opened for me in Recken- 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. 1 37 

burg, although the natural satisfaction of the first did 
not gush from it. 

In the library I found, with the exception of gene- 
alogical and heraldic works, which I left untouched, 
and Italian ones which I did not understand, nothing 
but French books ; but the productions of a great 
nation, at the period of its utmost splendor, would 
have sufficed to content a young, thirsting soul for a 
long time. And, moreover, the pastor now came for- 
ward with his beloved German literature. I heard 
him preach Sunday morning, and in the afternoon 
knocked at his door. 

I was a mere child in the knowledge of the world 
and formed of sterner stuff than he, yet I brought 
from this first meeting the oppressive sense of a 
marred existence. But the longer I saw him toiling 
to serve a parish which had run wild both bodily and 
mentally, the mild, thoughtful man and Christian, the 
foundation of whose character was based upon a 
noble standard and harmonious culture, misunder- 
stood and unloved, he, the most lovable and loving 
nature, the more keenly I felt in his presence actual 
bodily pain, and much as I personally lost, had no 
rest until I knew that he was appointed to a position 
where his lessons and example might animate more 
susceptible minds. 

And now to the priest’s inspiring words was joined 
the pitifully empty hand of the philanthropist. One 
who would fain have given, given always^ without 
calculation, was forced to wrangle with a wretchedly 
poor parish for fees and contributions, if he wanted 
to have anything to bestow, even on the most needy. 


138 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

To this was at last added the want of a home, his be- 
loved wife dead, his only son absent working his way 
in the world. This man must surely have wasted 
away like a spring in the desert, if a world had not 
opened to his joyous gaze in our young, aspiring 
literature. He followed even the tangled luxuriance 
of those days with the glance of a humanitarian and 
philanthropist, and his heart throbbed with the 
greatest joy when he had discovered something of 
lasting nobility for his people, who so needed the per- 
fecting power of beauty ; but his delight was purest 
of all when he saw it awaken even the feeblest 
answering ray. 

He therefore received the child who knocked at 
his door as a messenger from God, for to a certain 
extent he found that she appreciated and understood 
his world. Every afternoon from that first day I 
entered his hermitage ; every evening he led me back 
to the threshold of that other cell, in which a female 
hermit of an exactly opposite stamp uttered her wis- 
dom, and his hope never failed, although the teach- 
ings of the aged child of the world made a stronger 
impression on their joint pupil than those of the fol- 
lower of Christ. 

Thus I had entered the high school of Reckenburg 
in a double sense, and few pupils can boast of having 
so rarely heard an imprudent or useless word from 
their teachers. But the third member of the educa- 
tional league spoke to me most loudly and encourag- 
ingly of all — Nature ! — no, I will not give my instruc- 
tor that proud name, but my daily more fondly 
beloved ancestral estate. On it I knew exactly 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. 


139 


Where I was, could find each path ; it was the world 
in which I, too, should some day become a hermit. No 
instinctive attraction drew me towards society or 
books, but to a corner of the world long owned by 
my ancestors, where I might establish a workshop. 

Meantime I made considerable progress, and my 
clever aunt was not slow in turning it to account. 
I soon found myself diverted from academical free- 
dom of study to the writing desk. I have already 
said that, from the first day of my visit, I was called 
upon to be the interpreter of her verbal orders. The 
curt, exact manner in which directions and replies 
were delivered, no less than the weakness that often 
made the pen fall from the weary old woman’s hand, 
suggested the idea of trying my skill in the depart- 
ment of writing. At her dictation I soon despatched 
instructions and replies to employees, lawyers, etc., 
my rapid, distinct hand speedily accomplished what 
had tasked the trembling fingers for days, and after a 
few successful trials I was promoted to the post of 
secretary. 

Yet it was a long time before the mysterious ac- 
count books were placed before my eyes, but as in 
this very alpha and omega of her daily toil the fortu- 
nate accumulator most urgently required a trustworthy 
accountant, a virtue was finally also made of this 
necessity. 

I will no longer occupy your time, my friends, with 
the period of my apprenticeship at Reckenburg, es- 
pecially as I have advanced far beyond the present 
^ time in my recital. In short, in the course of a few 
years, I became the countess’s right hand in her 


140 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. ^ 

extensive business relations ; she trained me for *a 
steward. I worked several hours daily under her 
eyes in the notorious tower-room, and so it happened 
that both within and without I, and I alone, learned 
to know the value of an estate, which I had neither 
a right nor a prospect of ever possessing. For how- 
ever completely I won the countess’s confidence in 
the course of time, I could not deceive myself in re- 
gard to the fact that only her reason, not her heart, 
inclined to the relative with whom she constantly 
became more intimate She helped her work, nothing 
more. There was but one person in the world for 
whom she still cared, only in thinking of 07 te man did 
the restless spirit find repose. 

But with my natural reserve, how could I have be- 
come attached to a person who had so little affection 
for me ? I valued the countess according to another 
standard than that of the world. I formed myself in 
essential points according to her experience, but this 
did not demand any gratitude, for I gave her more 
than she bestowed, and gave it without any self-in- 
terest. I had as little real love for my relative as she 
for me. Between the old idealist in the parsonage 
and the old realist in the tower, the young girl de- 
veloped into a creature whose heart was as lonely, 
nay, more lonely than the child’s had formerly been 
when in Christlieb Taube’s school room with charm- 
ing little Dorl. 

When the time appointed for my return home ap- 
proached, the countess proposed to my parents and 
myself that I should come back the following winter. * 
She expressed herself in a less condescending manner, 


THE HEREDITARY PRINCE. I4I 

but still only as a favor, not as a wish. “ In your 
position,” she said, “it is best for you to be re- 
moved for a time from the provincial surroundings 
of your father's house and learn to move in a wider 
sphere.” 

The invitation extended to the nurse, “ Madame 
Muller,” was far more pressing. True, she might 
accompany me back home during the summer, a 
season when the countess’ health was usually good, 
but return with me in the autumn and settle per- 
manently at Reckenburg. A regular salary would 
be paid for her services at the castle, permission 
given for the exercise of her professional skill — 
which included the vacant office of midwife in the 
village — and also the privilege of occupying the little 
house in the forest, which had originally been built for 
the prince’s master of hounds, but as the prince and 
his pack remained absent, need not be considered 
a portion of the inventory of things to be main- 
tained. A little garden, a piece of meadow land, and 
all the fire-wood she needed, free of charge, offered 
to her tempting inducements ; and so the following 
autumn we see Nurse Justine settled to her own 
satisfaction and highly respected in the castle and 
vicinity as a helper in every bodily ailment. The 
potions she understood how to brew, from herbs col- 
lected by herself, cured fevers and chills, and if they 
did not it was because heaven had willed otherwise ; 
and the doctor’s medicines would have been of still 
less benefit. An active business in drugs was main- 
tained with the apothecary ; industriously as her 
hands moved, they were scarcely able to satisfy the 


142 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

manifold wants. The old woman in the castle, and 
the old woman in the “ dog house ” vied with each 
other in the art of accumulating and saving. But if, 
in spite of all the prophecies of dreams, the rich 
aunt’s millions should escape me, the minion of for- 
tune, the poor nurse’s hundreds would still remain. 

When, a few days before my return home, I came 
back to the castle from a morning walk — with, I 
confess, a heavy heart, because I could not see the 
seeds whose sowing and sprouting I had watched, 
grow ripe and be reaped — I was surprised to find a 
great bustle, an unusual amount of roasting and pastry 
making going on in the rooms occupied by the house- 
hold. A butt of wine was carried from the cellar into 
the servants’ hall ; the wives and children of the men 
employed on the estate went home laden with bottles 
of wine and baskets of cake ; long tables intended for 
the day-laborers stood loaded with food. I asked the 
cause of this unusual hospitality, and received from 
various mouths the answer that this was the Recken- 
burg holiday. Whose holiday ? The calendar men- 
tioned none ; the time of the countess’ entry into the 
castle occurred in mid-summer, her birthday was 
passed over in silence, for she did not like to be re- 
minded of her age. The cause of the festival was a 
secret, like so many things at Reckenburg. 

The countess’ table was also abundantly supplied. 
Wine was not only placed on the board, but drunk. 
Both footmen were in attendance. The countess 
wore a new velvet cloak and a superb ostrich feather 
in her Spanish hat ; an almost contemptuous glance 
fell upon my everyday dress (still the same indestruc- 


I'HE HEREDITARY PRINCE. t4$ 

tible serge). When the roast meat was served, she 
ordered her glass to be filled with champagne, touched 
it to mine, and said solemnly : ^‘^To his health! ” 

To whose health } ” I asked in surprise. 

A second more than scornful glance fell upon me 
What was the use of my studies in the library, if ] 
had valued pedigrees, genealogical tables, and famil} 
documents so little as to still be ignorant of the most 
important date at Reckenburg ? 

“ The twentieth of April, Prince Augustus’ birth- 
day,” she said sharply, after she had emptied her glass 
at a single draught, and as she probably saw by my 
expression that she had merely solved one enigma by 
a new one, added : “My late husband’s son, and the 
last of his noble house. May God preserve him I ” 

For the first time the countess had uttered her 
husband’s name in my presence, and for the first 
time the idea dawned upon me, what heir she had 
chosen, perhaps already mentioned in her will. 

When I afterwards told my mother of the Recken- 
burg holiday, she said : “ I have never doubted that 
the countess enlarged the Reckenburg estate so ex- 
tensively solely for the prince’s benefit.” 

“ For that wild fellow.? ” replied my father laugh- 
ing ; “ well, God knows she won’t see him squander 
it any faster than his father I ” 

Mamma rejoined : 

“ Not during her life time and at any rate not so 
far as the entail will allow ; but be sure of this, Eber- 
hard, the countess will leave her inheritance only in 
royal hands.” 


144 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE LAST DANCE. 

The regular correspondence between my parents 
and myself had been anything but communicative-. 
Good advice alternated with assurances of obedience, 
and each party expressed hopes that the other con- 
tinued in good health. Confidential gossip in black 
and white would have been contrary to the dignity of 
the relation ; so there was a great deal to tell, which 
amply occupied the first few days after we were re- 
united. But I soon perceived how correct the old 
countess’ judgment had been. The lonely freedom 
of her house had already estranged me from the pro- 
vincial life at home. 

A New Year’s greeting, as formal as if it had been 
cutout of a “ Complete' Letter Writer,” had been 
also exchanged between the “ most humble servant 
Dorothee Muller,” and the “ sincere friend Eberhar- 
dine von Reckenburg.” I now found my little com- 
panion unchanged in her pretty chamber and state of 
widowed betrothal. It was scarcely perceptible, that 
during these six months she had passed from child- 
hood into maidenhood, her features and expression 
were still so unformed and artless. She dressed 
more daintily than other girls of her class, tended 
flowers and birds, embroidered slippers and veils, 


THE LAST DANCE. 


145 


from whose proceeds she increased her money for 
trifles ; baked savory cracknels and cakes, which 
found a ready sale in her father’s tavern, and with all 
this, had ample time to devote herself to reading. I 
saw her devour with glowing cheeks the tales of bold 
knights and sweet love stories obtained at the circu- 
lating library, and heard that during the winter she 
had devoted herself industriously to music. Gentle 
Christlieb Taube came from his district village school 
to the city every Sunday to give her an hour’s in- 
struction in playing on the guitar, and I do not doubt 
that this hour seemed to him the pleasantest of the 
week. Then Dorl, with her lark-like voice, twittered 
the arias that corresponded with the fashionable novels : 
songs about the “ boldest of robbers, who was roused 
by his Rosa’s kiss,” or “ Robert, whom Elise pressed 
to her throbbing heart.” 

“FrMein Eberhardine” wisely shook her head, 
for even if the little one read and sang these doubtful 
things with the most childish innocence, she did so, 
though unconsciously, from ennui, the real mother of 
woman’s sins. She admired the composure with 
which I received the news that a death in the family 
of the reigning prince would prevent all gayety at the 
Thursday assemblies during the summer. “ I should 
like to see you dance, Fraulein Hardine,” she said 
sighing, “or dance. myself just once more, as I used 
to do with your honored father.” 

Siegmund Faber had sent a beautiful garnet neck- 
lace for a Christmas present, and received in return 
a knit case for his bandages. “ I should much rather 
have embroidered a tobacco pouch,” said Dorl. “But 


146 THE LAST VOH RECKENBUEG. 

he doesn’t smoke at all ; he has no amusem-ents ex- 
cept his horrible knives and pincers.” Meantime Sieg- 
mund studied and worked indefatigably, and relied 
just as firmly on a bloody field of practise. 

It will be a long time before we meet,” said Dorl 
laughing, “ but I can wait.” 

“ The child behaves admirably,” said my father, 
and my mother could not gainsay the praise. Nurse 
Justine, however, shook her head, saying: “The 
maiden’s wreath must not be praised, till the matron’s 
cap is put on.” 

The second parting from home was not nearly so 
much like a death on either side, since the first had 
proved so free from danger ; and there is nothing new 
to be told about my second visit to Reckenburg. 
When it was drawing toward an end, the countess 
proposed that I should remain with her permanently. 
I flatly refused, for though the busy activity at 
Reckenburg interested me more than the quiet 
routine of my parents’ house, I would never have 
voluntarily resigned my home rights and duties. 
The countess, however, I must say, though unwilling 
to give me up, was not offended by my frankness, 
nay it was to this very ingenuousness that I owed 
my rapid progress in gaining her confidence. I 
already went in and out unannounced, and the bolt 
was no longer drawn when she knew I was in the 
ante room. 

How great this progress was, I first learned on the 
evening before my second departure for home, which 
happened this year to fall on the prince’s birthday. 
The countess had been in better spirits than I had 


THE LAST DANCE. 


147 


ever seen her. She had received one of her myster- 
ious letters from Dresden, which she smilingly read 
and re-read. I noticed that she gazed at a miniature 
with delight and carefully locked it up “ Handsome 
— handsome — as he!” I heard her murmur, and 
then again: “Youth is brave!” Nay, when I 
entered the room after the usual noon nap, the culpa- 
ble thought occurred to me that Her Excellency the 
countess had drunk too much champagne. She was 
sitting in an arm-chair with half closed eyes, gayly 
humming a little love song said to have been written 
by the beautiful Aurora Konigsmark : 

“ Love kindles hearts by the light of the eyes, 

At first ’tis but a jest, then follow sighs.” 

The sight was repulsive ; I made a noise and the 
old lady noticed me. But she still murmured : 

“ It inspires courage, thrills the blood,” 

then opened the ledger and spent an hour in calcula- 
ting accounts with me, in order to finish the current 
business before the journey. 

After supper I followed her into her room to say 
farewell. “ You are seventeen years old, Eberhar- 
dine,” said she, “and even in your little city there 
might be some occasion which demanded a toilette in 
accordance with your rank. I have one for you, which 
was made for myself, but never used. It can be 
altered to suit you. You will find the box in your 
room. Don’t open it until you get home, that the 
material may not be unnecessarily crushed.” 


148 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


I kissed her hand with sincere gratitude. It was 
always an act of heroism for her to part with any of 
the articles brought to Castle Reckenburg. But I 
could not help smiling at the thought, that a dress 
prepared for a lady approaching middle age could be 
altered nearly a half century later for a young girl, 
who was more than a head taller. 

The countess continued: “You are neither beau- 
tiful nor impassioned enough to inflame a young 
man’s fancy, Eberhardine. I am sure of your heart. 
But beware of a sensible marriage like your parents. 
I foresee something higher for you. Your manner is 
now perfectly comme il faiit^ your mind and body 
show the strength which is needed for the ancestress 
of a noble race. 1 repeat it — you are not formed to 
arouse and satisfy affection, but to inspire respect and 
confidence, after passion has died away. True, it 
will not be to-day nor to-morrow ; but you are only 
seventeen, and I was thirty before I reached my goal. 
You, too, will attain it. Impress upon your mind the 
coats of arms which are united at Reckenburg, and 
rely upon it that they will, nay musty be united a 
second time, united forever. Be brave, Eberhardine. 
Au revoir ! ” 

So this was it. This was the secret plan of the 
old head of the house, when she invited the last of 
her race to stand an examination under her eyes ; this 
was the proof that she had successfully passed the 
trial ; the coats of arms of the royal and baronial 
family surmounted by the count’s coronet to remain 
permanently at Reckenburg ! The last of the von 
Reckenburgs and the last of an illustrious princely 


THE LAST DANCE. 


149 


family to become the founders of a new, richly 
endowed race. 

Well, it was an old woman’s fancy, worthy of the 
resolute supporter of the race ; but also a very pleas- 
ant whim to the heart of a youthful von Reckenburg. 
And if it would be too much to assert that the hand- 
some, princely husband appeared to her in a dream, 
he really did cost his bride in spe a few hours of her 
usual night’s rest. 

My traveling companion this year was the pastor, 
who by a little literary labor had purchased a few 
days’ pleasure. They consisted of a visit to his son, 
who was studying in Leipsic ; a glance at the list of 
new books and the antiquarian treasures of German 
literature. My happy friend hoped to be able to 
repeat these trips every six months, and we agreed to 
go back to Reckenburg together in the autumn. 

This two days’ intercourse with the dear, learned 
gentleman would undoubtedly have been of the great- 
est benefit to me, if the intrusive idea of the prince 
had not constantly interposed between the new Span- 
ish heroes of Schiller, and the metrical quarrels of 
Lichtenberg contra Voss. The old countess was 
right ; her chosen successor did not possess an in- 
flammable imagination, and the warning about the 
late marriage was also not unnecessary ; yet, notwith- 
standing all this, the plaything she had entrusted to a 
girl of seventeen was a dangerous one. No matter 
how often Dame Wisdom drove the tempter from the 
field, he always came smiling and whispering back 
again. Chassez le naturel^ il retourne au galop. 

I knew nothing about the young gentleman, except 


150 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

that my father had called him a wild fellow, and the 
countess’ hints did not contradict the epithet. My 
tongue fairly pricked with the desire to learn some- 
thing more about him. At last I made short work of 
the matter, and in the midst of the idyllic society of 
the parsonage at Griinau, burst out with a question 
about the character of my aunt’s stepson. 

The worthy pastor of Reckenburg was startled. 
He did not even know the countess, and was far from 
supposing that her faithless husband’s son would 
some day be his patron. Therefore it was only by 
the merest accident, that he had a short time before, 
through a newspaper article, obtained some little in- 
formation. 

The young, handsome prince — an Antinous rumor 
called him — frivolous, inclin-ed to gallant adventures, 
and therefore with his scanty finances vexatiously 
involved in debt, had long since shown annoyance 
and e7imii at the methodical routine of the Elector’s 
court, at which he found himself in a subordinate 
position as relative, ward, and soldier, and being hot 
headed into the bargain, had burst out in open re- 
bellion at the result of the congress of sovereigns at 
Pillnitz the previous autumn. He secretly left Dres- 
den to seek more attractive society at the palace of 
the Elector Clemens in Coblentz. Here in the gay 
life of the emigrants, he became loaded with a burden 
of debt which neither of his royal relations felt dis- 
posed to liquidate. A short time before he was said 
to have received peremptory orders to return at once 
to Dresden, and his friends thereby hoped to secure 
themselves from the compromising interest taken by 


THE LAST DANCE. I5I 

the princely partisan in the impending campaign 
against French Jacobinism. 

“ After a sleep of a century and a half, a violent 
storm has risen in the German forest,” said the pas- 
tor in conclusion. The wind roars and raves in the 
tree tops, while the ground, a broad, damp willow bed, 
still awaits the ploughshare. In the world of science, 
in art and poetry, everywhere we see single shoots, 
misunderstood or falsely interpreted, tower above the 
crowd. Even among our countless royal families this 
sudden, heterogeneous impulse makes itself known. 
Are there not many which have put forth a bold shoot ? 
If these shoots are heirs to a throne, like Frederick, 
like Joseph, they make themselves pioneers of a new 
order of things, to conquer or perish in their efforts, 
according to strength, circumstances, or temperament, 
but always plant a germ which will bear fruit in the 
future. If they are side branches, like this young 
man, younger sons without land or power, but reared 
in princely delusions, princely seclusion, we see them 
only too frequently fall from the tree as dead blos- 
soms, and perish in obedience to the law which makes 
every unused faculty decay. Adventurers and mad- 
caps, sensualists and originals, dilettanti and bunglers, 
free-thinkers and ghost-seers jog along within the 
bounds which custom has hitherto hallowed, and no 
one of them ever breaks through the barriers for the 
freedom and prosperity of the others. They cannot 
rise higher, they will not or dare not increase in 
breadth or depth. They simply remain princes, that 
is exceptions, to whom no field of glory or action is 
allotted, except the bloody battlefield, which even at 


152 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


this hour, and God knows until what hour, threatens 
to again benumb our scarcely awakened native land.” 

These were certainly counsels which might well 
divest the Reckenburg chimera of its dazzling charm, 
and when I jolted homeward from Leipsic alone in 
my modest vehicle, the bright soap bubbles vanished 
from my sober eyes. Would the reckless, gallant 
Antinous, for the sake of paltry money and lands, 
consent to an alliance with a plain girl, inferior to him 
in rank, and whom he did not even know } I asked 
myself. Would the old countess insist upon this 
marriage, against the will of the son of a man who 
had been her pride and joy ; the open and secret ruler 
of her life } And lastly, if she insisted upon the con- 
dition, if he submitted to necessity, would the plain, 
unknown girl allow herself to be made a condition in 
a bargain with a man who received her unwillingly.? 
No, three times no ! Not for the possession of a 
princely Antinous, not for Reckenburg and all the 
power in the world. Never! 

With this bold stroke through all dazzling fancies 
and the resolution not to make myself ridiculous by 
any allusion to the matrimonial whim at Reckenburg, 
I entered my parents’ house. But notwithstanding 
this, I shall be pardoned for a relapse into the weak- 
ness when, directly after the first greetings were 
exchanged, my good father asked the question : “ Did 
the old countess know that her hereditary prince had 
been ordered to this place .? ” 

My head fairly swam. “ Prince Augustus here — 
here .? ” I stammered. 

Not yet,” mamma replied, after a discreet hem, 


THE LAST DANCE. 


153 


which was always intended to convey a mild reproof 
to her husband. “ Not yet. But he may be expected 
at any moment. He has been ordered to the regi- 
ment as major, and therefore will of course be your 
father’s superior officer. Many people say it is done 
in order to have him get out of his entanglements 
while living in this little garrison town ; but I am of 
the opinion that they wished to give him an indepen- 
dent command, and selected this place because the 
castle affords a residence suitable for a man of his 
rank.” 

At any rate he will be admitted to the Thursday 
assembles,” my father added. picnic and bal 

champetre is being arranged in his honor.” 

A reception, Eberhard,” my mother corrected. 

Well, a reception, for aught I care,” he answered 
gaily. “ In any case on that day the ladies will make 
his acquaintance, and our good Dine will at last have 
an hour’s gayety.” 

^‘We shall be obliged to attend to your toilette 
without delay,” my mother began, but was inter- 
rupted by the announcement of a lady visitor, who 
wished to consult her about the picnic. I was still in 
my travelling dress, and therefore permitted to retire 
to my room. 

Was I never to have any rest from the enchanted 
prince } Scarcely had the dream been driven away, 
when he stood before me in bodily form. Had the 
countess known of this meeting, founded her plans 
upon it } Was it one of those pieces of good fortune 
the family seeress had predicted from cards and 
coffee-grounds.? Had the Reckenburg conditions 


154 the last von reckenburg. 

already been insinuated to the poor, debt-laden young 
gentleman ? 

But even a real disturber of the peace may be con- 
quered, often more quickly than a fancied one, if only 
the armor of pride is well polished. I had defeated 
mine before the important conference below was 
concluded. 

A light step on the stairs brought my thoughts 
back into the natural channels. It was Dorothee, 
who had not expected me until the next day, and was 
returning from a walk. Now for the first time I laid 
aside my travelling dress and then, intending to sur- 
prise her, softly opened the door and stood for some 
time unnoticed on the threshold. 

Active, lively little Dorl was sitting by the window, 
with her head resting on her hand ; she whom I had 
always heard laughing and talking — sighed ; she 
looked paler than when I left her ; her eyes were 
larger, had a more questioning expression, and were 
surrounded by blue circles. The flowers on the 
window-sill hung their heads ; the birds in the cage 
fluttered restlessly about for food. Their little mis- 
tress had neglected them. 

As soon as she saw me, however, the usual bright 
flush suffused her charming face, and with a cry of 
delight she threw herself into my arms. “ Hardine ! ” 
she joyously exclaimed, “Fraulein Hardine, oh! all 
will be well again now I ” 

“ What will be well ” I asked, as I sat down beside 
her and took her hand. Are you in trouble, Doro- 
thee ” She shook her head. “ Or anxious .J* Is it 
anything about Siegmund Faber.?” 


THE LAST Lance. 


155 


Siegmund Faber.? Dear me, what do I know 
about him .? He is cutting cripples and dead bodies, 
and will soon go to the war. He doesn’t care that 
for me.” She laughingly snapped her fingers. 

“ Doesn’t he write to you .? ” 

“Twice a year, on my birthday and at Christmas.” 

“ And you .? ” 

“What should I write to him .? Nothing ever hap- 
pens to me. I thank him for his present, send him 
something in return, and that ends it.” 

“ But what is the matter with you then, dear Doro- 
thee .?” 

“What is the matter with me.? Nothing at all, I 
believe. You have no pleasure either, Fraulein 
Hardine.” 

“You don’t occupy yourself enough, child,” I said 
warningly. 

“How am I to occupy myself .? ” she answered. “ I 
do what I can.” 

I could make no reply. In fact, what was she to 
do in her betrothal freedom and constraint .? I dimly 
suspected that work would not be the means of filling 
this life. 

“ But what would you like then, dear .? ” I asked 
after a pause. 

“ I should like to live ! ” she cried, with the inde- 
scribable impulse with which she had exclaimed in 
the garden : “ To be good is to be a child of God, 
Hardine.” 

And as then, with a hasty change of mood, she had 
rushed after the first violets to adorn her friend, she 
now caught her hands, pressed them to her heart, and 


156 


THE LAST VON RECEENBURG. 


exclaimed exultingly : But now I have you again, 
Fraulein Hardine ; now I am no longer alone ; now I 
shall be as contented and happy as ever.” 

Yet nevertheless I left her with a presentiment of 
approaching sorrow. “Dortohen doesn’t look so 
well as she did in the autumn,” I said, when I re- 
turned to my parents, and my father replied : 

“No wonder! Time hangs heavy, poor little Dorl. 
Handsome as a picture, seventeen years old, and 
always the same dull monotony.” 

“ Has our daughter any more pleasure in her 
youth, Eberhard ? ” asked my mother sharply. 

My father patted my cheeks, and I saw his eyes 
grow dim. “Our Dine, our good Dine!” he said 
sorrowfully. “Confounded old witch’s nest. If I 
had my way — .” He did not finish the sentence, 
for a warning hem was audible from Frau Adelheid. 
But after a pause he continued, rubbing his hands 
joyfully. “Well, thank Heaven, next Thursday 
Eberhardine will have an opportunity to flourish her 
little petticoats, as is natural at her age.” 

The next day our little house-owner was again the 
old gay Dorl, and all aglow with excitement over the 
great affair of the toilette. The countess’ box was 
opened and we scanned with well satisfied eyes a 
dress — there was no doubt that it had been intended 
for the dinner to be given on the day she entered 
Castle Reckenburg — well, a dress which fifty years 
ago would have been elegant in a brilliant court 
circle, but even now in our little ex-capital would 
seem sufficiently rich and handsome. A sea-green 
damask interwoven with threads of silver, the neck 


THE LAST DANCE. 


157 


and sleeves trimmed with delicate lace. Mamma 
nodded with an expression of the utmost satisfaction. 

“The skirt is too short,” said she, “but can be 
lengthened with the cloak, which will also make over 
the waist. I never saw finer lace. Its yellow tint 
will heighten your brunette complexion, especially 
with powdered hair and real pearls in the toupet. 
A princely toilette, my dear daughter ! ” 

I assented. But Dorl pouted like a sulky child. 
“Don’t wear powder, Fraulein Hardine ! ” she 
whispered in my ear. “No Parisian wears powder 
or a toupet. And for Heaven’s sake don’t wear 
that silk dress with the lace as yellow as a quince ! 
You would certainly look like your grandmother, 
Fraulein Hardine. A white muslin, red bows, and a 
fresh rose — my bushes are in full bloom — a rose in 
your curling black hair, I should like to see you so at 
your first ball.” 

Ah ! I was only seventeen ! In a white dress, a 
rose in my curls, at the first ball, for the first time 
under the eyes of — children, my heart fairly trem- 
bled with delight. 

But it was only a moment, for my mother, who 
had heard the unusual whispered opposition with 
visible displeasure, answered: — “It is no ball, at 
least that is not its principal object. It is a cercle, a 
presentation. Let the bailiff’s daughters dance 
around a prince of the blood in dresses fit for a shep- 
herdess ; we are not of the stamp that enjoy prepar- 
ing a dish of stewed fruit. • But as for the powder ; 
if the Jacobins in Paris have laid it aside, that is the 
best reason for us to retain it.” 


158 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

Farewell, bright dream of white muslin ! Noblesse 
oblige. The last von Reckenburg wore powder as 
long as anyone, and never in her life roses. 

Thursday morning dawned, and society was still 
in the most anxious suspense. Had the prince 
arrived the night before ? Had he not come yet ? 
What would become of the bailiff’s turkey, or the 
pig’s head the chief forester’s wife had prepared, if 
the warm weather continued ? Would the Baroness 
von Reckenburg venture to mix the pastry for the 
cakes ? 

She would venture to mix it ! My father breath- 
lessly brought the joyful message ; my kind papa, 
who had cheerfully undertaken the troublesome post 
of a maitre de plaisir and leader of the dance to-day, 
when the point in question was to prepare a suitable 
reception for his princely commander and give his 
daughter the first festival of her life. The prince 
had arrived at night and most graciously accepted 
the invitation of the committee. “ A man like a 
picture!” said my father, 'Hf your countess should 
see him. Dine, she would pay his debts with sugar- 
plums.” 

Everybody was now in motion. The hair-dresser 
appeared at nine o’clock in the morning. Scarcely 
was the artistic structure properly completed, when 
Dortchen came in to lace the waist of the dress and 
fasten the hooks. Oh I there is time enough yet I ’’ 
I said deprecatingly. 

“But I must dress too, Fraulein Hardine,” replied 
the little one, “and be there earlier than you.” 

“You ? ” I asked in surprise. 


THE LAST DANCE. 


159 


“ I am only going to help father a little ; the poor 
man doesn’t know which way to turn, Fraulein 
Hardine.” 

There was really no objection to be made to this; 
so I allowed my waist to be compressed to the size 
of a wasp’s, and sat for hours in my father’s arm- 
chair gasping for breath, and with a much redder 
face than usual. Mamma glided between the cook 
stove and the toilette table ; papa found it hard work 
to force himself into the old uniform. Between each 
article of clothing he tried an entrechat, to make his 
limbs supple for the great task of the evening. Of 
all who belonged to the Thursday reunions, scarcely 
one thought of dinner that day. 

At last, at last the clock struck four. The bail- 
iff’s carriage rolled by, and the von Reckenburg 
family glided through the little gate of the late 
barber’s shop to the castle terrace, and thence to the 
pavilion. We were the first to reach the spot. A 
prince of the blood not only ought, but must find 
everyone waiting for him. 

The weather was as mild as summer ; the trees 
and plants were in blossom. No better day for a 
fete champetre could have been found at the end of 
April, if it had been especially ordered. But as the 
entertainment was designed for the reception of a 
prince’s son, the managers thought it more proper to 
decide in favor of the ducal summer house, as my 
mother had chosen the dress of drap d'argefit. True, 
the summer house consisted of a single apartment, 
but with the assistance of drapery had been divided 
for the complicated arrangements of the day. The 


l6o THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

front was intended for the reception and dance, the 
rear for the dining hall. The dishes already sent in 
made a very attractive display, and also, blended with 
the spring odors wafted from the garden, gave out a 
spicy perfume. Under the drapery, between the two 
divisions, stood Meister Muller’s buffet and his portly 
figure leaned against the side door which led into the 
kitchen and cellar. Dorothee of course, remained be- 
hind the scenes. 

In this room, which in other respects had preserved 
its old magnificence very tolerably, the company 
waited one hour, two hours and more for the eagerly 
desired guest, who — did not come. No one sat down, 
no one had patience to carry on any continued con- 
versation. All eyes rested on the open door. It was 
so still in the crowded hall, that the birds could be 
heard twittering outside. The members of the regi- 
-mental band resolutely kept the trumpets to their 
mouths, that they might not omit the welcoming 
flourish. At the entrance, in the blazing sunshine, 
stood the committee, chapeau has, and at their head, 
with his hand doubled into the form of a tube. Cap- 
tain von Reckenburg. All were watching and listen- 
ing — no prince came. 

Intentional want of punctuality on the part of a 
blood relation of the Elector could not be supposed ; 
some misunderstanding must have occurred or acci- 
dent happened. After long deliberation the head of 
the committee set out to enquire, and the family of 
this head afterwards learned in confidence, that the 
discourtesy which had been thought so impossible 
was not entirely out of the question after all. When 


THE LAST DANCE. l6l 

the ambassador appeared before the distinguished 
guest, the latter was extended comfortably on a 
couch in his dressing gown, with a long Turkish pipe 
in his mouth and the Hamburg newspaper in his 
hand. ‘‘Already.?” he asked, yawning. “Are the 
beauties so sure of their charms, that they can expose 
them to the sunlight.?” But he promised to appear 
as soon as he had dressed and finished the newspaper. 

Twilight was already approaching, when the envoy 
returned with the message. The window shutters 
were hastily closed and the candles in the chandelier 
lighted. The company ranged themselves in two 
rows, between which the distinguished guest was to 
pass. At the head were the wives of the nobility, 
then those of the prominent citizens, next the young 
ladies, and finally the gentlemen in the same order of 
rank. 

But it was still a long time before the expected 
flourish of trumpets and directly after the maitre de 
plaisirs voice echoed from the upper end of the 
room. I had not looked around, and held my head 
in the haughtiest attitude, to give the lie to my 
throbbing heart. Not until I heard my father utter 
the name : “ Freifraulein Eberhardine von Recken- 
burg,” as I sank slowly in the minuet curtsey, did I 
raise my eyes, as calmly as I could, to the face of the 
person passing. 

I had been prepared for a handsome man ; but hcy 
who now met my eyes, my friends, was not only the 
handsomest man I had ever seen — for that would 
not mean much — but was and remained — I know of 
no better expression — the most fascinating youth 


1 62 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

life has ever shown me. If he had been wild, his 
appearance at least showed no trace of this dissipa- 
tion ; neither the slender, pliant figure, nor the 
complexion of almost girlish transparency, nor the 
features which would have perhaps seemed too soft 
and delicate but for the large deep blue eyes that 
flashed with so bold a light. Add to this the fair 
moustache above the proudly curved upper lip, the 
thick waving hair, which rebelled against the restraint 
of the queue, and finally the graceful ease of manner 
and bearing, natural only to those whose condescen- 
sion is considered a favor. My good father, with his 
tight jacket and stiff dignity, presented a vexatiously 
comical figure in my eyes beside this darling of the 
graces in his comfortable, half open coat. 

I received this whole impression at the first glance, 
and during this first glance understood the pleasure 
my eighty year old relative found in her memories of 
the past, if her faithless husband’s son resembled his 
father : but strangely enough — could it have been a 
presentiment of the future } — during this first hasty 
glance there was a buzzing in my ears like the dirge 
of Hadrian, which the pastor had so vividly described 
to me, for a handsomer man than this Antinous 
could hardly have delighted the imperial eyes. 

When my father mentioned my name, the prince, 
who had just passed my neighbor with a wave of his 
lace edged handkerchief, started and paused a moment 
with a smile on his lips, as if he had just met an old 
acquaintance ; then passed on down the line, bowing 
as each was presented. 

The polonaise began. The prince led my mother 


THE LAST DANCE. 


163 

through the hall far too quickly and naturally for the 
fashion of the times. Then a pause ensued ; the princi- 
pal female dignitaries eagerly awaited the approach of 
the distinguished guest and openly shrugged their 
shoulders when, after having already preferred his cap- 
tain’s wife to Her Excellency the widow of the Marshal 
of the Prince’s household, they now saw him turn with 
hasty steps towards her daughter. 

You have just come from Reckenburg, Fraulein 
he said with the same smile as before. “ How is my 
ex-mamma.? Immortal, so they say — ” 

“At least, not enfeebled. Your Highness, and un- 
wearied,” I replied. 

“ Insatiable too, is she not, and inflexible in guard- 
ing her Lydian treasures ! Well, even Croesus at 
last found his Solon. Will you not exert your 
wisdom, Fraulein, to free at least one poor debtor 
from his chains .? ” 

I cannot say that this familiar introduction would 
have been particularly agreeable to my taste, but I 
scarcely caught the meaning of the frivolous words ; 
I only listened to the music of the changeful voice, 
which wove a magical spell around my heart. 

As he uttered the last words the orchestra com- 
menced a Viennese waltz, and I read in my compan- 
ions’ envious glances, that they supposed the prince 
would be my partner. The brave maitre de plaisir 
rushed heroically toward the offended wife of the prin- 
cipal dignitary, to make amends to her by the best 
efforts of his bodily strength for this new preference 
shown his family. I, too, expected the prince would 
lead me to the dance, and awaited his invitation with 


164 the last von reckenburg. 

delight. But as he made no movement to leave the 
spot, I quietly sat down in one corner of the sofa. 

^‘Do you not dance.?” said the prince, seating 
himself beside me. “ So much the better. We will 
talk and make our remarks on the company.” 

The couples whirled past us ; not one escaped a 
mocking comment from the prince’s lips. “Not one 
marked countenance ! Not one fresh nature ! ” he 
exclaimed at last. “And all these people boast of 
being created in the image of God, the Father. How, 
amid these masks, these smooth conventionalities, 
have you managed, Fraulein von Reckenburg, to re- 
main yourself f ” 

“This is my first appearance in society,” I could 
not help answering. But I did so with tolerable 
humor, for I sat opposite to a mirror and understood 
how many summers might be adjudged the wearer 
of the sea-green brocade. 

“ Or how will you accomplish it .? ” said the prince, 
correcting himself. 

“Why, Your Highness will be obliged to accom- 
plish it also,” I answered, smiling. 

“I! By Jove, no indeed!” he exclaimed. “I 
have been chained here. But does my worthy 
guardian of Saxony suppose that the first cannon 
shot on the Rhine will not break this chain .? It will 
surely come to that at last. Oh I what a disgrace 
that Francis of Austria, following his father’s exam- 
ple, could delay until his unhappy brother-in-law, 
under the torture of his Jacobin bailiffs, sends his 
hordes against him. What a disgrace, an eternal 
disgrace, that the latter, who will soon be our em- 


THE LAST DANCE. 


165 

peror, still writhes and twists like an eel. But, 
thank God, King Frederick William is all eagerness 
to apply the thumb screw to these miscreants. Let 
him once place himself at the head of an army, let 
him shout ‘forward!’ and we, at least, that is the 
legion of landless German princes, will not delay, 
under Frederick’s banner, to reconquer for the heir 
of St. Louis his royal freedom.” 

In this way, amid the notes of the Viennese waltz, 
my young hero artlessly talked in mingled jest and 
earnest of his future plans. I already knew his 
war-like disposition, but could not help being sur- 
prised that he intended to desert to the Prussian 
service. So I ventured to remind him that a change 
to that particular camp would meet with scant ap- 
proval from Saxon hearts. 

“ Have I an army of my own to lead to the field 
he answered smiling. “Or must I wait until the 
German nation has remembered its duty — pshaw I 
— its need of defense t Wait until the ruler of 
Upper Saxony has raised his little banner.^ Oh I 
only let me have the subsidies of your Reckenburg, 
Fraulein,” he added, with a mischievous glance, 
“ only the subsidies of your Reckenburg, and I will 
lay at your feet the first laurel wreath which, like my 
brave father of Weimar, I have won as a Prussian 
soldier.” 

During this tirade the waltz ended, and I rose to 
take shelter under my mother’s wing from the angry 
glances of the company. The prince followed me. 
The first bars of a minuet were just being played. 

“You seem to be a virtuoso in the art of bearing 


1 66 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

ennui with dignity,” said he, ‘‘will you, like a faith- 
ful comrade, stand in this dance by the side of a 
poor bungler ? ” 

I should certainly have preferred to whirl in a 
round dance through the hall in his arms as a merry 
partner, but to stand opposite to him for fifteen 
minutes longer, even only as a faithful comrade, 
seemed to me a great delight. When we reached 
the end of the column, my partner sighed so deeply 
that I could not help answering the incivility with a 
smile. He also laughed. “The Germans call these 
solemn hardships pleasure,” he exclaimed. “ By 
Jupiter! I would gladly give my hand to a Jacobin 
for an honest carmagjioley 

I took the liberty of remarking, that a gay Ger- 
man country dance might perhaps do the same ser- 
vice, and His Highness only need ask for it to 
compensate himself for the hardship of th6 decorous 
minuet. 

“ It needs at least two to be gay,” he answered, 
glancing satirically from one to another of the proud 
company. Suddenly he started. “Good Heavens, 
who is that he exclaimed in delight, “ who is 
that .? ” 

It seemed to me as if I saw a flash of lightning 
enter a powder magazine, for my eyes had followed 
his. But if they had been struck with blindness, 
what spectacle could have exerted so sudden a spell 
as that of my beauty, of — Dorothee ? 

The dance music had allured her from her hiding 
place. She was standing one step in front of the 
buffet, with sparkling eyes, like a child that sees the 


THE LAST DANCE. 


167 


fruit for which it longs hanging unattainably on the 
trees. The incarnate Eve ! Her arms were slightly 
raised, her body bent - forward ; in one hand she held 
a little basket twined with flowers and filled with the 
sweet biscuits she knew how to make so daintily. 
The light blue edge of the white muslin dress scarcely 
reached to her ankles ; her little feet in the spangled 
shoes beat time to the notes of the music ; the golden 
curls floated down from beneath the blue ribbon that 
loosely confined them, and the bouquet of roses she 
had gathered for me trembled at the quick throbbing 
of her heart. Never and never that time 
did I see the charming Dorl look so charming as at 
that moment. 

As her eyes met ours, she looked -down with a deep 
flush and glided through the side door. 

“ Who is this Hebe ? ” repeated the prince. 

‘‘ The tavern-keeper’s daughter,” I replied, bowed, 
and sat down beside my mother. 

Various dances followed, through which I whirled 
in the arms of different partners, sighing as my prince 
had just done over the toil of the minuet. The latter 
did not dance again. Unconcerned as if in a tavern, 
he sat near the buffet among a group of officers, with 
whom he boldly drank. But it was not Meister 
Muller’s native production, nor even the best brands 
the givers of the entertainment had been able to fur- 
nish, but sparkling Clicquot, which he had ordered to 
be brought from his own cellar, as a trifling contri- 
bution to the picnic.” 

So he heaped offense upon offense. But at every 
cork that popped from the bottles, his eyes sought still 


l68 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

more eagerly for the tavern-keeper’s lovely daughter, 
who, at each new dancing tune, appeared in the door- 
way as if lured by H lion’s horn, glided forward to the 
curtains, and followed the movements of the couples 
with longing eyes. That during this time her eyes 
often met those seeking ones at the sideboard, while 
she understood how to avoid the reproving looks of 
Fraulein Hardine, undoubtedly seems far more par- 
donable to Fraulein Hardine to-day than it did in the 
year ’92. 

At last a flourish of trumpets gave the signal for 
the supper. Now this scandalous intermezzo must 
come to an end. The company entered the second 
compartment, where the ladies, seated at small tables 
around the large one in the centre, were to be served 
by the gentlemen. In each of these groups, by strat- 
egy or force, a seat had been kept unoccupied, in the 
hope that it would be chosen by the distinguished 
guest. 

But the indignation caused by so many offences 
rose to fierce wrath, when the outrageous young gen- 
tleman gratified none of these secret expectations, 
and disappointed all by remaining quietly seated in 
the same place ; when he did not even taste any of 
the delicacies procured with so much care and ex- 
pense, but contented himself with a biscuit which 
Hebe Dorl, at a sign from Meister Muller, offered 
him in the flower-wreathed basket. 

As I saw the blushing girl stand before him with 
drooping head, saw him start up, raise his glass to 
her and drain it to the dregs at a single draught — 
the food choked me, and the water with which I tried 


THE LAST DANCE. 


169 


to wash it down burned like poison ; but it was a pic- 
ture whose artistic charm even the most indignant 
could not fail to perceive. 

According to the programme, the entertainment 
was to conclude with the supper. All were preparing 
to depart, but our hitherto indolent hero suddenly- 
started up and loudly demanded a last dance. Strong 
as the universal feeling of indignation had been, gene- 
rosity to a guest of the blood-royal was stronger. 
Besides, even for the Thursday assemblies, there was 
nothing indecorous in having the customary conclud- 
ing dance, for whose rustic music and motley changes 
no one felt in the right mood until after supper. Old 
and young ranged themselves in couples, only Captain 
von Reckenburg still stood waiting until after his 
aristocratic chief had chosen his partner, in order to 
select the most prominent of the bevy of beauties 
remaining. But now, as the prince unceremoniously 
turned his back upon the marriageable group, he 
went up to the Frau Amtmannin, offered her his 
hand, and was in the act of going to the head of the 
column, when — oh ! horror, threefold horror to our 
noble circle — when he saw the prince rush up to the 
side board and draw the tavern-keeper’s little Dorl 
into the ranks of dancers. 

A thunder-clap could not have been more destruc- 
tive. For a moment everyone stood rigid and motion- 
less, then the flames of revolution burst forth. The 
Frau Amtmannin turned with an excuse me ; ” all 
the matrons and young ladies of noble blood left their 
places and hurried towards the door, where, concealed 
behind the pillars, they awaited the result. 


170 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

“Does His Highness suppose he is invited to a 
country wake ? ” I heard the widow of the Marshal of 
the Prince’s Household ask scornfully behind me, as 
she rustled away. 

I, with a very young nobleman whom I could have 
handed about on a waiter, formed the connecting link 
between the couples of noble birth and the citizens, 
who still remained firm. Did I think of following the 
signal of desertion given from above ? Probably not, 
else why did I avoid my mother’s glance ? My eyes 
rested upon the offending pair, who now advanced to 
the gap that had been made by my side. I saw Doro- 
thee’s look of mingled fear and pleasure ; saw the 
prince’s meaning glance, which seemed to say : “You 
are no fool, you will stay.” In short, I did stay. 
The bourgeoise followed my example, and the dance 
began. 

This certainly was quite a different matter from 
the toil Germans usually call a pleasure ! How 
quickly and gaily the figures changed, the couples 
interlaced and separated. How the rosy Hebe circled 
through the hall in the arms of her god-like partner, 
when, at the conclusion of each figure, the step 
changed to a galopade I Voices now mingled in the 
whirl, the royal leader, amid a loud clapping of hands 
and exulting chorus, sang the old ballad of “the 
grandfather who took the grandmother,” and at last 
nothing old or new remained except ■ — the kiss ! 

Yes, my friends ! We are writing of the year ’92, 
and a kiss in the dance did not seem a theft in those 
days. The polonaise was often introduced with it, or 
it was exchanged in a waltz ; at any rate our worthy 


THE LAST DANCE. 


I7I 

grandfathers never lacked it, and not only at shooting 
matches or country fairs. My sisters of the Monday 
assemblies were in the habit of offering their little 
cheeks to their partners, and after their partners to 
everyone to whom they came in the dance. Fifty 
kisses in a single turn — it was no intoxicating spice, 
but the flavor was very pleasant. 

Our aristocratic circle, with the reminiscences of 
the whilom ducal court, was, it is true, too nobly 
constituted to endure such natural excesses. But 
now, on its proudest day, to see a prince of the blood 
press his lips to those of a tavern-keeper’s daughter, 
and press them in such a way — with so much 
method — it never recovered from the horrible 
spectacle ! This was its death blow. 

He kissed her mouth, clasped her in his arms, 
pressed her to his heart, and rushed through the hall 
with her. The rapid movement loosened the blue 
ribbon from her hair ; he snatched it and concealed 
it next his heart. The golden curls fell and floated 
to her knees. All order was broken up. Singing, 
shouting, breathless, all the couples rushed after the 
first. Last of all came Fraulein Hardine, after a 
timid kiss of the hand from her young nobleman. 

Then suddenly — halt ! The 77iaitre de danse had 
given the musicians the signal to stop. I can still 
see how Dorothee vanished through the side door 
like a frightened roe ; how the prince swallowed a 
foaming glass of champagne. Then my mother 
threw her own hood over my head, and all pressed in 
confusion towards the entrance. 

Thus the festival given to the prince by the noble 


1/2 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

Thursday assembly in the year ’92, the great year of 
revolution, came to an end in a bacchanalian tumult, 
a terrible scandal. I have devoted to it a long chap- 
ter in the history of my life — it was the only time I 
almost wore roses. 


THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. 


173 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. 

extremely vexatious scandal!” said my 
mother, interrupting the silence, as soon as the little 
gate of the barber’s house closed behind us. But 
under the circumstances, Eberhard, I must say that 
our daughter behaved with a great deal of tact.” 

Admirably, admirably, my Dine,” said my father, 
as if a weight had fallen from his heart. “The. child 
was dragged into the dance by force ; she was Dine’s 
playmate, is the owner of our house, and when Faber 
has married her will belong to society, as much as — ” 
“Your reasons will not do, Eberhard,” mamma 
interrupted. “The girl behaved most improperly. 
As Siegmund Faber’s betrothed, she should stay at 
home, or as the tavern-keeper’s daughter remain in 
the kitchen and cellar, to say nothing of her pastoral 
toilette. Our daughter, however, had already taken 
her place in the dance, and a von Reckenburg will 
know how to maintain her dignity on any occasion, 
especially when the Herr Amtmann’s wife, whose 
father was a miller, sets the example of retiring.” 

I made no reply, but kissed my parents’ hands and 
hurried to my room. I did not think of undressing 
and going to rest, but sat motionless on the side of 
the bed, I know not how long. I felt as if I had 


174 the last von reckenburg. 

fallen from a high tower, and confused images whirled 
through my bewildered brain. I heard a light step 
at the door, but did not move ; I felt a warm breath 
on my cheek, but did not look up, though my hand 
trembled with the longing to repel the offender, who 
was kneeling at my feet with her head buried in my 
lap. “Are you angry with me, Fraulein Hardine.^*” 
she murmured in her childish voice. 

Was I angry with her ! I gasped for breath, my 
blood boiled with rage against the tavern-keeper’s 
false, bold daughter. I turned my face away and 
gazed steadily into the looking-glass over my dressing 
table. And this glance at the mirror dissolved the 
spell; for what is being just except seeing clearly.? 
But I saw in the narrow frame the Freifraulein von 
Reckenburg in her lofty toupet and stiff brocade, the 
tall figure with the flushed face, to whom the worldly 
wise old countess had said : “You will never inflame 
a young man’s fancy.” And at her feet, shrouded in 
a veil of golden hair, knelt a child with all the charms 
of a woman, her pulses throbbing fervently, and on 
her brow the stamp: “No young heart will be able 
to resist you.” 

After a long pause and a heavy sigh, I turned my 
eyes from the picture in the mirror to the young girl 
at my feet. “ Be kind, be kind,” whispered the siren, 
and her lips warm with the fervid glow another’s 
breath had inspired, burned on my hand. 

“You allowed yourself to be carried away by im- 
pulse, Dorothee,” I said, raising her. “ But if you are 
sorry — ” 

“ Sorry .? ” she exclaimed, trembling with the per- 


THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. 1/5 

ception of a happiness whose existence hitherto she 
had scarcely suspected. “ Sorry ! Oh, never sorry ! 
Not if I should die for it^ Hardine ! ” 

She darted out of the room. And I ? Of course 
I lay as if on a bed of roses and slept sweetly in 
peace, after the manner of magnanimous heroines 
and noble souls ? But I tell you, I tossed on thorns 
and nettles, my heart seemed full of boiling lead, and 
if either prayed that night, it was the happy offending 
mortal, not the self-sacrificing one. 

The von Reckenburg family could only approve the 
conduct of the abashed owner of the house, when 
during the following days she avoided every occasion 
of meeting them, shrank from the watchful eyes and 
bitter taunts of the neighborhood, and only glided 
into her father’s house through the garden. Even 
Frau Adelheid valued the child who had grown up 
under her eyes too highly to fear constant repetition 
of a saucy freak, and the provincial gossip stimulated 
this proud disregard of danger. 

Besides, we had enough to do to defend ourselves ; 
for if the plebeian bolts were directed towards the 
little attic chamber, before which the Faber basins 
had glittered, the poisonous arrows of “society ” were 
aimed at the lower story, whose inmates, infatuated 
by the prince’s favor, had bid defiance to righteous 
indignation and thereby made the scandal incurable. 

Of course these tale-bearers only made the baronial 
family hold their heads the higher and more proudly. 
But it must not be concealed, that a headache which 
confined my mother to her bed for a week, may pos- 
sibly have originated in some secret affection of the 
bile. 


176 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


So it happened that on Sunday morning the father 
and daughter went to church alone, and here they 
saw the beautiful offender for the first time since 
that terrible evening. She sat in the nave, close to 
the pulpit, directly opposite the portion of the con- 
gregation which could boast of noble blood, and even 
during the singing we could not help noticing the 
curious glances which the plebeians cast from her 
seat to the high ducal pew, behind whose curtains 
the prince, unfortunately without truth, was supposed 
to be. 

But how the excitement increased, when the 
worthy court chaplain entered the pulpit and after 
giving the text : “ Render therefore unto Caesar the 

things which are Caesar’s, and unto God the things 
which are God’s, ” impressed upon his hearers in the 
most powerful language, their relative duties towards 
the altar and the throne, as well as those of sub- 
mission to established gradations of rank, and drew a 
horrible picture of the sinful persons who attempted 
to make everyone free and equal. 

The lonely, somewhat deaf old gentleman had un- 
doubtedly not heard a word about the great local 
question of the day. He had written his sermon 
early in the week, in fierce wrath against the rebels 
in Paris, who had forced the pious unhappy king to 
declare war against his Austrian kinsman, his only 
anchor of hope. If the carefully prepared words re- 
ceived personal sharpness by any momentary inspir- 
ation, at the utmost no one was responsible for it 
except the young prince, whose heart it had been in- 
tended to rejoice, and who in such godless times 


THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. 


177 


shamefully neglected his duty towards the sanctuary 
of God. Neither at this time nor after did the fiery 
orator think of the modest penitent at his feet, with 
any feeling save that of the most paternal affection. 

But how far our worthy citizens were from expect- 
ing to hear any re -action of Dumouriez’s ultima- 
tum from their pulpit ! Were they a horde of 
Jacobins, who required an ecclesiastical call to order 
Did they not, without grumbling, give God the things 
which were God’s, and the Elector the things which 
were the Elector’s, always supposing that the taxes 
were not too high ? Had any one in the parish even 
dreamed of freedom and equality ? 

Yes, there was one among them, one alone, 
who blinded by the demon of pride and vanity, had 
turned her back upon the class to which God had as- 
signed her, since like an upstart, she had shot up in a 
single night to be the betrothed bride and heiress of 
an ambitious fellow ; who had thrust herself among 
the nobility, sneaked into the presence of the most 
distinguished member of society and, clad in fantastic 
attire, infatuated the prince and occasioned such a 
scandal, that a society which had existed from the 
time of its duke had been broken up, and a reproof 
from the pulpit became necessary. It would not have 
required much for people to point their fingers at 
poor little Dorl, who with downcast eyes and cheeks 
wet with tears, now blushing scarlet and anon white 
as chalk, sat trembling violently. 

When the service was over, I found her half sense- 
less, crushed against a pillar by the pressure of 
the crowd at the church door. More excited than 


178 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


ever by their morning devotions, the patricians from 
the gallery and the plebeians from the nave stood 
talking in groups before the entrance. No one ex- 
changed a word or greeting as usual with the pretty 
“Jungfer Augentrost,* no one made room for her; 
they stared, criticized her dress, and contemptuously 
turned their backs upon her. More kindly than I 
should have done without this Christian spectacle, I 
spoke to her, drew her arm through mine, and led her 
— they made way for me — past the Frau Amtman- 
nin, who was just entering her handsome carriage. 
The soldiers were having a parade in the market- 
place, and the godless prince respectfully saluted us. 

So the envied and slandered young girls, once more 
united through the declaration of war made by the 
National Assembly, walked home arm in arm, and 
even strolled up and down the garden for fifteen 
minutes, in order to recover from the exhausting 
morning service : the rose and its leaf as before ! I 
strengthened Dorothee in her resolution to keep in 
the back-ground as much as possible, until the 
storm had subsided, and even advised her for a time 
to attend the quiet early service instead of the prin- 
cipal one. She thanked me with mingled smiles and 
tears, kissed my hand, and said : “ Fraiilein Hardine, 

you are really a great lady. ” 

Well, we like to hear our own opinion of ourselves 
confirmed by others, even if we do not consider them 
authorities in other respects. 

As we returned to the house, the prince entered 


Delight of the eyes. 


THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. 


179 


from the street. Dorothee, with a burning blush, 
darted up stairs. I conducted the visitor into the 
sitting-room, and as my mother was ill and my father 
still absent at the parade, talked with him an hour 
alone. “You have a brave heart,” said he, extending 
his hand, “let us be friends, Fraulein von Recken- 
burg.” 

He spoke of his war-like plans more in detail than 
on the evening of the ball. He had been serious in 
his intention of entering the Prussian service, and 
hoped for speedy success. The Duke of ^Veimar had 
undertaken to arrange the matter with both parties, 
and also expressed a desire to have him assigned to 
his own Prussian regiment. Under the immediate 
command of a Saxon relative, he said, the hated uni- 
form of electoral guardianship would be endurable^ 
and after all what could be better than to see the 
troublesome proteg6 enter into the battle for the 
oppressed royal son of a Saxon prince’s daughter.? 
He also talked with the utmost frankness about his 
pecuniary embarrassments, and hoped that they would 
be disentangled by the same hand. 

After this day the prince often entered the von 
Reckenburg sitting-room, without taking offence at 
the towels in the chimney corner. He treated us 
like old acquaintances or even relatives, and told us 
the progress of his private negotiations ; we knew the 
object and result of his secret expeditions ; we petted 
him and concealed his faults as if he were one of the 
family. All the other inhabitants of the city, on the 
contrary, he treated with sovereign contempt, and did 
not, under our eyes, even once meet the beautiful 


i8o the last von reckenburg. 

owner of our house. She remained quietly in her 
little attic room, and we ourselves only saw her pass 
occasionally. My parents praised this modest tact, 
and the memory of her one transgression was forgot- 
ten in the neighborhood more quickly than might 
have been expected. The good court chaplain’s les- 
sons about cause and effect were moreover heard 
with gratitude and respect. 

How that which you have doubtless already sus- 
pected, my friends, could have happened during those 
summer weeks, how it could have been so entirely 
concealed that even afterwards no searching glance 
detected the secret, I do not know. And even if I 
did know, I have promised to disclose my own secret, 
not that of other hearts. 

But my secret during those summer weeks was, 
that I — I alone — suspected — no, knew that of 
the others. I saw nothing, I heard nothing, I did 
not track it out, did not calculate upon the tempting 
power of opportunity. But I inhaled the truth, as it 
were, with the air I breathed ; I felt it almost as a 
necessity, that a nature accustomed to happiness like 
his, and one longing for happiness like hers, must 
meet, that they loved each other and rejoiced in their 
mutual love. 

I felt, I knew it, and I did not prevent the sin. 
Whenever the warning : “ Remember Siegmund 
Faber ! ” or the admonition : “ She is betrothed to 
a man of honor,” hovered upon my lips, I repressed 
the words, for the source from which they sprung was 
not pure. It was not Dorothee’s duty, not Siegmund 
Faber’s honor, 7iot a strong sense of right and justice, 


THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. l8l 

at least these were not the only causes, it was my own 
sick longing that sharpened my suspicions. If I had 
been wholly unprejudiced, wholly free from selfish- 
ness and jealousy, I, the inexperienced girl, should 
have trusted to the purity of my companion’s soul, 
as my experienced father and mother did. I did not 
feel innocent, was conscious of it with shame, and 
shame and pride bound my tongue, so I became an 
accomplice in the crime. 

True, even the trumpet of doom would not have 
roused the enraptured lovers from their first delirium 
of joy. And why did not Siegmund Faber himself 
think of reminding his lonely betrothed of her duty ? 
Why did he not write ? Why did he not return to 
her, even if but for an hour, before his departure to 
the seat of war ? Why, amid the pressure of study 
and occupation, did he blindly trust to a promise 
which only surprise had won from an inexperienced 
child, to a conventional law of faithfulness to which 
the heart had not given its assent ? Had the man, 
in analyzing the nerves and ligaments of the body, 
neglected to examine the nerve and ligament of the 
soul ? Or had he judged her weakness by the stand- 
ard of his own, and given up the venture of faith- 
fulness as folly.!* All these apologies I have often 
repeated to myself, and they have never exoner- 
ated me. 

Yet it was not only my apprehensive mood ; exter- 
nal signs also betrayed the secret to me. Who can 
describe the mysterious glow that pervades the life 
and acts of a happy mortal ? Who can describe it, 
especially in the life and acts of such a joyous nature 


1 82 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

as Dorothee’s ? I saw the reflection of the delight 
that filled her soul, and perceived it still more dis- 
tinctly because I saw her so seldom. We were recon- 
ciled ; she had no reason to avoid me. Nor did she 
really avoid me, but she did not seek, did not need 
me as before. She, who a few weeks since had 
exultingly exclaimed : “ All will be well again now 
that you are here ! ” had found another, who crowded 
me out of her heart. The child, the girl, had become 
a woman. 

But the secret change was still more visible in the 
prince. His personal affairs had resulted far more 
favorably than could have been expected, since the 
kind-hearted Frederick Augustus had not discharged 
him from his service, but consented to his taking 
part in the campaign under the Prussian banner, and 
also generously undertaken to be his security to his 
creditors. He, who a year ago had deserted to the 
dissolute camp of the emigrants, who a short time 
before had raged so angrily about the hesitation of 
the allies, was now free ; why did he not go to the 
field ? He, who had declared the destruction of the 
French not to be a mere parade manoeuvre, the entry 
into Paris a promenade, and the restoration of the 
throne child’s play, now found a thousand scruples, 
which served in his own eyes to cloak his intentional 
delay. The dissensions in the allied cabinet, the 
division in the Prussian camp, the choice of the Duke 
of Brunswick for commander-in-chief instead of the 
king, the unfinished preparations, the lateness of the 
season for a summer campaign were all considerations 
which subsequent events only too plainly justified. 


THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. 


183 


But they were artfully adopted and put forward by 
this fiery youth, because there was a power that held 
him back quite as strong as the one which urged him 
forward. 

I shared the views of the companions of my life in re- 
gard to the nature of this war. I thought it a just, nay 
holy cause, to risk the welfare, perhaps the existence 
of our own nation, to save the crown of a foreign king. 
I did not doubt that the Prussian army, accustomed 
to victory, would make a speedy conquest, and it was 
a satisfactory idea to me, that Maria Theresa’s daugh- 
ter would be restored to her rights by Frederick’s 
heir. Besides, I did not conceal from myself that the 
best school for my young friend would be the battle 
field, and the conflict which threatened us all could 
find a solution only by his departure. I therefore 
approved the prince’s warlike impiilses, strengthened 
him against himself, and yet, yet I uttered a sigh of 
relief, as if rescued from some impending misfortune, 
when he again found some new pretext for delay. 

The Weimar regiment, to which he was ordered, 
started without him. ‘‘The Duke of Brunswick 
won’t be in any great hurry, ” said he, “ I shall reach 
the Rhine before him.” Then the “puppet” show 
of the imperial coronation in Frankfort was to be 
allowed to take place, and at last, when the king, after 
his interview with Francis II. went to Mayence, he 
still thought he might wait until the latter had joined 
the army on the other side of the Rhine. 

My father shook his head at this sudden inertness. 
“Now you see,” said he, “how hard it is for a 
Saxon to condescend, even for the highest flight, 


184 the last von reckenburg. 

to place himself . under the talons of the Prussian 
eagle.” 

I was silent, for I understood the struggle between 
love and ambition in this young heart, felt it in my 
own. Dorothee was perfectly free from care. Once 
she asked anxiously if the Saxon army was also go- 
ing to the war, and when I answered in the negative 
smiled in delight. A Siegmund Faber, who was daily 
approaching nearer and nearer the peril, seemed to 
have no existence for her. 

It was on the afternoon of the second of August 
that the prince entered our room in great excitement, 
bringing the Duke of Brunswick’s manifesto from his 
headquarters at Coblentz. All his enthusiasm was 
again aroused ; he apologized for his doubts of the 
tried commander. ‘‘ Heaven be praised,” he ex- 
claimed, the king’s chivalrous spirit has conquered 
all mean jealousy. This is the voice which will drive 
the unchained beast back to his cage. Only let bold 
actions speedily follow bold words, and on the birth- 
day of Saint Louis we will set his imperiled crown 
shining with fresh lustre on his grandson’s head.” 

He remained only a few moments, embraced my 
father, shook hands with my mother and myself, and 
rushed out again. He had not said farewell, but we 
knew it was a farewell — perhaps for life. 

We sat silently together until late into the evening. 
Did my parents suspect what moved me so deeply ? 
Had they secretly cherished more hopes than I my- 
self ? Again and again I met their anxious eyes fixed 
upon me. 

When I went up stairs to my room, I remembered 


THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. 185 

one who must be even more unprepared for this part- 
ing than I. I turned the handle of Dorothee’s door, 
but found it locked. She was not in the habit of 
remaining so late at her father’s house, and never 
went out in the evening to pay any other visit. Where 
could she be ? I was not calm enough to reflect upon 
this question. The confusion in my mind must first 
subside, and I sat for a long time, probably hours, 
motionless in my room. 

Months lay behind me, months which had been 
more full of self sacrifice than any in my life. The 
fleeting hopes and dreams that had not been banished, 
must now disappear, disappear with him who had in- 
flamed my imagination, disappear for ever. He was a 
man quick to love and awaken responsive affection, 
not one who after an outburst of passion can endure 
and bestow repose. Away with the chimaeras of the 
old Countess von Reckenburg, away forevermore. 

I wished this, wished it earnestly, and even at this 
hour my efforts were not without success. I saw two 
of us once more in the spot,' from which their long- 
ings had for a moment led them ; the prince battling 
against the the enemies of established order, I in my 
sphere of labor at Reckenburg. The only difficult 
thing was to imagine the child so recently awakened 
to life restored to her state of betrothed widowhood. 

But where was Dorothee ? Had I failed to hear 
her light step ? A word of explanation and comfort 
ought not to be delayed until the morrow. Tears 
flow most quietly at night, and children sleep sweetly 
after they have wept till they are weary. She had 
probably gone to rest early and bolted the door inside. 


1 86 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

It was a quiet, sultry midsummer night ; the moon 
shone brightly through the dormer window that looked 
into the garden. I leaned out, and drawing a long 
breath, inhaled the fragrance that rose from the beds 
of pinks. Opposite to me towered the castle, a night 
lamp flickered in the room in the corner turret, where 
my young hero was resting for the last time or pre- 
paring for his journey. It was difficult for me to 
avert my eyes from the tiny flame, and they turned 
lingeringly towards the terrace, which the moon 
illuminated almost as brightly as if it were broad day. 

At this moment — was it a phantom of my excited 
blood, or was it reality — I saw two figures glide out 
of the arbor, the arbor where Siegmund Faber’s be- 
trothal had taken place. They were clinging to each 
other ; the woman’s delicate outlines were clearly 
visible by the side of the man, whose dark form half 
concealed her. It was only one glance, but no, there 
was no deception, and whatever I had suspected my 
imagination had not pictured this abyss. 

My head swam, I tottered and clung to the window 
sill. When I again slowly raised my eyes, I saw a dark 
figure vanish through the little gate, but at the 
same moment the door of the house softly opened. 

I rushed into my room, whose lock I did not venture 
to turn. I already heard steps on the stairs and would 
not have betrayed my presence for the world. But 
perhaps it was a first nocturnal meeting, a first and 
last for an eternal farewell. 

I listened breathlessly at the door. No ! That 
elastic, gliding step, that free, calm breathing did not 
speak of separation and sorrow. Only the happy 


THE BETROTHAL ARBOR. 


187 


move and breathe, in this way. She was dancing over 
roses and did not see the sin that approached her, the 
death lurking in the back ground. 

And now I was sitting in the arbor. Do not ask 
what impulse urged me to go there, or how many 
hours it had bound me to the spot. I had no measure 
for time, had no distinct idea of it. All was confusion 
and darkness. 

The first light of day glimmered in the east, and I 
saw a streak of blue at my feet. “ The ribbon Doro- 
thee wore at the spring festival,” I murmured, picked 
it up and mechanically twisted it around one finger. 

Then I again heard the little gate close and a man’s 
hasty steps. I did not stir. They came nearer and 
nearer. “ Hardine ! ” cried a voice at the entrance of 
the arbor. I still sat as if paralyzed. 

The prince was in his travelling dress and deadly 
pale ; but he looked me steadily in the face and quietly 
took the ribbon from my hand. Had he been looking 
for that\ a first and last memento } Had he seen me 
in the arbor from his room ? 

** You know all,” said he, ^^and it is well. Now I 
shall go calmly. If I return, I call God to witness — 
she will be mine. If I fall, she will have only you^ 
Hardine — only you ! ” 

The rolling of a carriage echoed on the silence. 
He cast a glance towards the dormer window, where I 
had listened at night. A tear rolled down his cheek 
and fell on my hand, which he held clasped in his. 

Protect the innocent child, protect my wife, my 
beloved wife. Guard her for me, for my sake, sis- 
ter Plardine,” he whispered, pressed me to his heart 
— and I was again alone. 


i88 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


A few minutes more and a post horn sounded. 
The last note died away in the west. Soon the sun 
rose, not to-day as on that morning at Reckenburg, 
like an eye of God : a shining ball which, bright and 
soulless, mechanically glided over despair and happi- 
ness, treason and love. 

On the spot where I sat, a few years ago a friend 
had sued for the hand of the companion of my child- 
hood, and made me the security for the faith of his 
promised wife. On the same spot which had heard 
the vow of loyalty, the faith had been broken, and to- 
day another friend, who was secretly the idol of my 
own soul, had commended the faithless girl to me as 
a sister. 

There are fatalities, which spring from our own 
souls and still seem to mock at any legitimate solu- 
tion. The wheel of destiny rolls over our bungling 
wills, and in the decisive hour it is not the light of 
every day, but a spark from unfathomed depths which 
guides us either to destruction or fulfilment. 

And with such a fatality I was confronted at this 
hour. 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


189 


CHAPTER Vll. 

THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 

Our breakfast hour struck. For this length of 
time I had sat in the arbor, absorbed in fruitless 
meditations. Now I rose and went to the house. 
My parents were already aware of the prince’s de- 
parture. The long cherished secret had run through 
the city like a conflagration. 

‘‘He is on the right path, may God be with him ! ” 
exclaimed my father, pressing my hand. But my 
mother said: “You look pale and chilled, my dear 
daughter. Go and rest a few hours.” 

But I dared not rest ; I was obliged to prepare 
Dorothee, who must need strength and courage more 
than I. Even while on the stairs I heard her piteous 
sobs. The thunderbolt had struck her from a cloud- 
less sky. 

She was lying already dressed on the floor. Her 
arms, which were thrown across the bed, quivered 
convulsively, her eyes were fixed upon the door, but 
did not notice my entrance. “ Gone, gone ! ” was the 
only sound that escaped her heaving breast. 

I lifted her on to the bed and sat down beside her. 
The convulsive sobbing lasted some time ; at last she 
saw me and passionately waved me off. 


190 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

“You are ill, Dorothee, ” I said, “I will send for 
the doctor.” 

The word made her fairly beside herself. “No, 
no ! ” she shrieked. “No doctor ! I am well. Oh ! 
only leave me alone, entirely alone ! ” 

I drew the bed curtains together and pretended to 
go away, but sat down in the back ground. She 
gradually became calmer ; a flood of tears afforded re- 
lief ; I heard her sob, and at last only gently wail and 
sigh. 

At the end of an hour she started up, re-arranged 
her disordered dress, dried her eyes, and looked 
timidly around the room. When she perceived me, 
another shudder ran through her frame. “ Go, Frau- 
lein Hardine,” she pleaded. “For God’s sake, leave 
me alone ! ” 

I now really went away ; but from time to time 
glanced into the next room. Dorothee sat on the bed 
weeping and wringing her hands. She did not say a 
word, but was perfectly well. 

Weeks passed in mechanical daily occupation. 
News of the tardy advance of the allied armies was 
slowly brought by the newspapers, more rapidly from 
time to time by a mounted courier. On Saint Louis’ 
birthday, when our young hero had expected to join 
the triumphal entry into Paris, the longed for deliverers 
were still on this side of the Ardennes, and the grand- 
son of the sainted Louis was a prisoner in the temple. 

Yet we did not despair. Verdun had surrendered 
as well as Longwy, and if from that time all news 
ceased for weeks, we confidently believed that the 
hitherto always victorious army, unheeding the de- 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


I9I 

spised enemy on its flank, would have reached the 
Marne by means of forced marches, and though later 
than we hoped, already restored freedom to the im- 
prisoned monarch in his capital. 

On the contrary, however, the silence of our friends 
who had joined the army was both incomprehensible 
and alarming ; for though we did not expect the ex- 
cited prince to be in any communicative mood, a 
young comrade' in the regiment, who had been ap- 
pointed his adjutant and was warmly attached to my 
father, had promised to send regular news, and now 
not a word had been heard for nearly two months. 
And Faber, who by a strange coincidence must have 
met the friends under a foreign flag, on foreign soil, 
in the same regiment, Faber also sent no word of 
consolation in these anxious times. 

“ I had a better opinion of this Mosjo Per-sd ” said 
my father angrily. “ I did not even think to give the 
prince a letter to take him. Poor little Ddrl is com- 
pletely changed, since affairs have become serious. 
She grieves and is ashamed to be so forgotten in her 
anxiety.” 

Yes indeed the unfortunate Dorothee was grieving 
and ashamed, though from a very different feeling 
than her old friend supposed. She avoided us with 
evident fear, sat in her room with the door bolted, and 
glided silently and timidly past us in the garden. If we 
spoke to her, even on the most indifferent subjects, 
she gave confused, evasive answers. I saw she was 
trembling at the thought of a discussion, which I too 
deferred day after day. Why ? It must inevitably 
take place before my departure for Reckenburg. Yes, 


192 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


why do we dread to cut a knot, why rely upon the 
most improbable things that might effect a solution ? 
For instance I depended upon a conversation and 
perhaps explanation between the prince and Faber, 
which would spare me the pain of interfering. 

At last, at last the adjutant’s long expected letter 
arrived. The prince had ordered him to delay it, on 
account of an accident, that his friends might not be 
unnecessarily alarmed. While hurrying forward to 
join the Weimar regiment, which was in the front, he 
had met and joined a Prussian mounted picket, and 
with it attacked a division of the enemy greatly su- 
perior in numbers. After an obstinate conflict they 
were cut down and taken prisoners ; but during the 
pursuit the prince, who did not wish to let even one 
fugitive escape, was thrown from his horse and re- 
ceived a sprain which, in consequence of bad care, in- 
flamed and detained him for weeks in a miserable 
hut. 

How he gnashed his teeth and swore at being 
forced to remain behind, while the army captured the 
fortifications in the Ardennes,” wrote the adjutant, 
“you can easily imagine, for you know him. But 
how he foamed at the incomprehensible delay of a 
week before the weakly guarded passes of Argonne ; 
no, that you cannot imagine, although you know him ! 
If the king were only in command ! However, God 
be praised, his gallant nature has triumphed over the 
old school wisdom, and our easy victory at Croix au 
bois and Grandprd, where these heroes of freedom 
ran like hares, will have lighted a torch for our 
‘ Serenissimus Cunctator,’ which will show the road 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


193 


to Paris. The army is on the march towards Chalons. 
If Dumouriez, that boaster par excelle 7 tce^ falls back : 
very well. We do not fear such an enemy on our 
flank. If he succeeds in joining his forces to those 
of Kellermann, who is said to be coming to his assis- 
tance from Metz : so much the better. We shall then 
get rid of the rabble at one blow. But the best of all 
is that our prince, now well and cheerful, will set 
out to-morrow to join his regiment. We expect to 
reach Menehould — accursed remembrance — in the 
evening.” 

The impetuosity of our prince spoke from every 
word of this report, but a postscript revealed the far 
more subdued mood of his companion. The roads 
and weather were abominable ; there was no system- 
atic care ; epidemic diseases were decimating the 
army ; but what was most surprising of all, the popu- 
lation seemed by no means so well disposed towards 
this expedition to free the royal prisoner, as every one 
had expected from the accounts of the emigrants. 
Several cautious hints about the divided opinions of 
the leaders of the army closed the letter. 

We dismissed the postscript from our thoughts and 
relied on the good faith and good news of our hero, 
in which we certainly forgot the dangers which fill 
every moment between the sending and reception of 
such news. 

The letter, which was written on the 19th of Sep- 
tember, reached us on the 28th. The following day, 
Michaelmas, was Dorothee’s birthday. I tried to 
enter her room early in the morning. The good 
news about the prince, I hoped, would pave the way 


194 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


to an explanation which could no longer be deferred. 
But again the attempt failed. She had gone to her 
father’s house before breakfast, and did not return all 
the morning. 

In the afternoon we were sitting round the tea- 
table, which was adorned with a birthday cake, 
surrounded with a garland of bright-hued asters. 
Eighteen tiny tapers, one for each year, and the large 
life-candle in the centre, were to be lighted as soon 
as honest Purzel, who was posted on the stairs, suc- 
ceeded in catching the child. I had deeply felt the 
inappropriateness of this little yearly festival, but 
could think of no pretext for preventing my parents’ 
kind intention. We waited in vain. Dorothee did 
not come. The Frankfort mail had also brought no 
letter from the betrothed bridegroom, who hitherto 
had written regularly at least twice a year. Papa 
shamefully abused his negligent Mosjb Per-s6. 

Twilight was already closing in, when a courier’s 
signal was heard from the west. At any sound from 
this direction officers and citizens assembled before 
the post house, to collect the true or false news the 
couriers dispensed at the stations. My father hurried 
out, and even we women could not rest, but stood in 
the doorway awaiting his return. 

The courier dashed on along the Leipsic road. My 
father came back. “ A battle is said to have taken 
place,” he called, shaking his head; “an unusual 
cannonading has been heard not far from St. Mene- 
hould. But who obtained the victory, and whether 
at the departure of the courier the next day the 
armies really occupied the same positions, let him 
decide who can; I — ” 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


195 


Just at that moment he perceived Dorothee, who 
had glided noiselessly in from the garden and was lis- 
tening to his words in breathless suspense. He laugh- 
ingly handed her a letter, which he had received from 
the courier : Wonderful, my dear Dorl, how he 
remembers dates ! ” 

Dorothee snatched the letter and darted upstairs. 
My father held another in his hand. “ From the 
adjutant,” he said, after we had entered the sitting- 
room. “ It will probably solve the mystery.” 

I hastily lighted the life-candle on the birthday 
cake, and stood waiting in breathless anxiety till my 
father had unsealed the letter. But he had scarcely 
glanced at it, when I saw him sink back into his chair, 
while the sheet fell from his hand. “ Dead, dead ! ” 
he groaned, as if overwhelmed. 

Who is dead ? ” shrieked my mother. She raised 
the letter, glanced at the first words, and then looked 
at me with the deepest anxiety. I was not lying in a 
fainting fit or convulsions, but standing as stiff as a 
candle. She quietly placed the letter in my hand. 
It was hastily written in pencil, and dated on the 21st 
of September. 

“ Our noble prince is dead ! The victim of a battle, 
which I have no words to describe. We set out in the 
middle of the night. The road was abominable, but the 
news that the king had yesterday given orders for an at- 
tack on the hostile army lent the prince wings. We rode 
our horses to death. At seven o’clock we heard the first 
cannon fired. A dense fog covered the whole country. 
The firing momentarily increased. The earth groaned. 
The prince was literally in a fever ; the battle, the long 


196 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

desired battle ! All the bodies of troops which we passed 
showed the utmost confidence, nay exuberant gayety. 
Our regiment was in the advanced guard, which had com- 
menced the attack. We dashed onward. It was past 
noon, and the fog had lifted. We now perceived the 
enemy’s forces on the heights of Valmy. A favorable po- 
sition, and the numbers were, at least, one third larger 
than ours. But what an enemy ! The confusion is said 
to have been boundless, when Hohenlohe attacked theii 
left wing, that is, Kellermann, and Dumouriez was too far 
away on the right to aid him. The victory seemed to be 
in our grasp, and — we delayed our assault. We fired 
across and the enemy returned the fire, without any per- 
ceptible object or result. Forty thousand cannon balls 
are said to have been wasted in this cannonade. 

“The prince foamed with rage, when on the opposite 
side of the road to St. Menehould, he met his regiment re- 
treating. Curses and imprecations fell from his lips, and 
his face by turns flushed crimson and grew pale. He 
openly and loudly declared that Hohenlohe ought to defy 
the unfortunate order to retreat, and dashed madly down 
the hill to the position the troops had occupied in the 
morning. He believed that an attack from this side might 
even now be made with safety. He can have intended 
nothing more than to reconnoitre. The balls whistled 
around his head. I dashed after him, to stop the fatal act. 
Several officers belonging to the regiment followed me. 
When close at his heels, we saw him reel and fall from his 
horse. I caught him in my arms. Amid a hail of bullets 
we carried him to the farm of la Lune, the headquarters 
of our commander. He was shot through the heart ; and 
in a few moments — a corpse. 

“ And this illustrious victim is the price of no victory, is 
not even the cost of the consciousness of satisfied honor. 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


197 


The enemy is directly opposite to us to-day as well as 
yesterday. We do not advance to the assault, and even 
the artillery is silent. There are whispers of negotiations, 
of a retreat. Nothing is incredible to me after yesterday. 
But can, will a king of Prussia submit to this disgrace ? 
The officers cry out against the Duke of Brunswick. The 
men who yesterday marched forth as proudly and firmly 
as if on parade, now pass each other with averted faces. 
I have seen them weep with rage and anger. ‘If you were 
a Prussian like me,’ said an old major, ‘ if you had served 
under Frederick’s banners, you would envy your dead 
prince.’ ” 

What more shall I say ? Outwardly I remained un- 
moved, and without a word returned the letter to my 
father. He was sobbing like a child, and the tears 
rolled down his cheeks on his grey beard. My 
mother sat in silence for a long time with clasped 
hands. At last she arose. 

“ We all need time to regain our composure. Go 
to rest, my dear daughter,” she said, kissing me on 
the forehead. 

My father led me to the door, pressed my hands, 
and said : “ God must know best, my dear child.” 

“God must know best.” How often, in calmer 
hours, I have thought of those words, which seemed 
so commonplace, and yet are the only ones that can 
console us in incomprehensible dispensation. Would 
this pleasure-loving nature, destitute of support 
from without or within, have stood its ground during 
the twenty years of deterioration, which followed the 
sham fight of Valmy, to the deepest disgrace and 
verge of destruction ? Would it have retained its 


198 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

strength for the act of expiation, or in what direc- 
tion would it have rushed to ruin ? God knew best, 
my dear father ! 

True, in this hour your consoling words were an 
empty sound, and I only heard that the one who had 
been the light of my eyes and the pride of my heart, 
was dead, lost to me forever. All firmness gave way, 
as soon as — at last alone — I reached the stairs. I 
sank down and the candle fell from my hand. There 
I lay, I know not how long ; life seemed to me a night 
as impenetrable as that which surrounded me. 

At last I hastily rose and groped my way to the 
door of my room. Just at that moment I saw a ray 
of light fall through a chink in the next chamber, and, 
fool that I had been, saw myself snatched from the 
grave to the active flood of life. I remembered one, 
whose light Of life had been even more utterly extin- 
guished than mine. 

It was news of death her old friend had given her 
as a message of joy, and deadly seemed to be the 
blow that had so suddenly fallen upon her. She was 
lying cold and rigid on the floor, with Siegmund 
Faber’s letter in her clenched hand. The long wick 
of the candle showed the length of time she had been 
in this unconscious condition, and I well knew the 
misery of the life to which I must rouse her. 

A secret voice warned me not to call my parents 
or the servants to my assistance. I carried her to 
her bed, unfastened her clothing, and — 

And what did the reserved girl of eighteen feel at 
the revelation she had not suspected, and yet under- 
stood with the speed of lightning } Pity, indignation. 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


199 


hatred ? Did she cry out against the sinner ? She 
was unconscious of any of these emotions, but even 
now she feels the thrill which ran through her frame 
at that moment, the thrill of re-awakening life after 
the piercing death shriek. No, he was not dead, not 
wholly dead ; one memento of him still existed, and I 
envied, yes envied the happy woman who possessed a 
token of his love. 

I opened the window, sprinkled the fainting girl 
with cologne, breathed into her mouth, felt her pulse 
in deadly anxiety, and could have screamed with de- 
light when I felt the first feeble throb. At last she 
opened her eyes and looked around in bewilderment, 
as if awaking from a horrible dream. Then her eyes 
rested upon me, and a terrible cry announced the 
return of consciousness. She sprang from her bed 
like a maniac, and with uncovered bosom and dis- 
hevelled hair, writhed upon the floor. “ Kill me, kill 
me, Hardine ! ” screamed the despairing woman. 

But the hour of anguish passed away. A bright 
fire crackled in the stove, the lamp burned quietly on 
the table. Dorothee lay in her bed, the tears streamed 
down her pale cheeks, and from time to time a child- 
ish voice moaned : ‘‘ Save me, save me, Fraulein 
Hardine ! ” 

And the heavy lids closed ; her chest rose and fell 
in calm, regular breathing ; she was asleep. I, too, 
wanted to seek rest, but just at that moment I saw 
the letter which had fallen from her hand, and which 
I thought I had a right to read. My first glance fell 
on the following postscript : 


200 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


“Yesterday an incident occurred, which moved me 
strangely, and will arouse the sympathy of the honored 
inmates of your house. Be cautious in telling them the 
news, dear Dorothee. I was with the outposts of our 
regiment, when I was hastily summoned by my distin- 
guished commander. A noble relative of his, who had 
joined the troops only a quarter of an hour before as a 
volunteer, had been severely wounded in a hazardous 
reconnoitering expedition, and carried to a neighboring 
farm-house. I had seen the unfortunate event, and was 
already on the way to lend my aid. ‘Thank God, here is 
Faber,’ cried the duke. At the name the wounded man 
opened his already glazing eyes. Some hope of life 
probably awakened. ‘ Faber,’ he faltered, ‘ Faber ! ’ He 
groped for my hand, and with his last strength pressed it 
to his breast ; a shudder ran through his frame, the death 
sweat stood on his brow. ‘Mercy, Faber, mercy!’ he 
murmured, and sank back in my arms — dead. 

“ How strangely I felt, as I loosened the uniform of my 
old regiment and in memory of home was doubly eager to 
help, where all help was vain. The prince was not 
wounded, as we had supposed, the bullet had merely 
grazed him, but a blood-vessel in the heart had been 
broken, either by the excitement, the mad ride, or the fall 
from the horse. I never saw a man of more superb physi- 
cal beauty. On his heart I found a ribbon wrapped in a 
sheet of paper, which in well-known characters bore an 
honored name. I will not venture to draw any inferences. 
But with the utmost respect I place this relic, which, per- 
haps, will prove a consoling memento, in the hands of her 
friend, the only gift I have to offer you to-day, Dorothee.” 

And now I again wrapped the blue hair ribbon 
from the spring festival around my finger, looked at 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


201 


the piece of paper, which bore only the name ‘‘ Har- 
dine von Reckenburg,” the signature torn from one 
of my few letters to Dorothee, and which had perhaps 
never been noticed by the person to whom on some 
occasion it was given. But was it not a singular co- 
incidence that it should be Siegmund Faber who 
took the memento from the breast of the man who 
had destroyed the happiness of his life, and placed it 
in the hands of his faithless betrothed as the love- 
token of another } 

Yet in that hour how could it have failed to touch 
me, that the name 'and handwriting of the friend he 
had called /its sister, when with his last words he 
entrusted his beloved to her care, had rested on his 
dying heart ? How in that hour could I have blamed 
myself that the dead friend’s legacy appealed to me 
more strongly than my duty to the living ? 

I went to my room and, without undressing, threw 
myself upon the bed. Dorothee slept ; I found no 
repose ! The events of this evening mingled like 
tangible apparitions in my half confused mind with 
memories of that holiday when I had heard the old 
Countess von Reckenburg humming Aurora von 
Konigsmark’s love song, and the terrible vision Sieg- 
mund Faber had revealed. I was dreaming with my 
eyes open, 'and it was probably a long time ere I dis- 
tinguished between the phantoms of memory and the 
bodily form, which in the grey dawn was kneeling 
beside my bed with drooping head and arms folded 
across her breast like a criminal. 

Will you save me, Fraulein Hardine? ” she whis- 
pered, after a long pause. 


202 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


Another silence followed, and instead of an answer 
came the question : “ What do you intend to do, 
Dorothee ? ” 

“Do — I ? ” she replied, as she sadly shook her 
head. “ I will do whatever you say, Fraulein Har- 
dine.” 

“Not what I say, what Siegmund Faber says,” I 
answered. 

But she exclaimed with a shudder: “//> — he? 
What have I to do with him now } ” But she under- 
stood my reproachful glance, for she hastily added : 
“ I will give him back his property and earn my bread 
by the labor of my hands.” 

In any other mood, looking at the dainty hands, I 
should have smiled at this resolution. In my present 
one I only said : “ Then write to him this very day, 
Dorothee, confess the truth, and receive your fate 
from him.” 

She started up with an impetuosity I had never 
seen in her before. “Write to him, and this very 
day ! ” she exclaimed. “ Tell him all, him — hi7n ! No, 
you will not ask that, only that one thing, Fraulein 
Hardine, I cannot do it.” 

“ Well then, / will do it for you,” I replied. 

“Would a letter reach him, Fraulein Hardine.?” 
she answered. “ Ten days have passed since he 
wrote, an equally long time must elapse ; and will he 
then be alive .? And where .? And how .? ” 

She was right. Where was the army at this time .? 
Had it moved forward into the enemy’s country.? 
Backward to the Rhine .? It would be a marvel if a 
letter reached its destination in such uncertain times. 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


203 


And dared I venture to expose such a secret to the 
risk of discovery by strangers ? No. We must wait 
for further news of or fro7n Faber. 

“Very well, Dorothee,” I said after a pause, taking 
her hand, “ if not to him at once, show the world 
plainly that your engagement is broken. Return to 
your father’s house, accept the humiliation as an 
atonement for your sin ; set duty against duty — ” 

It was like a death sentence. A feverish shudder 
shook her frame and she again fell upon her knees. 

“ Must it be ? ” she murmured in an almost in- 
audible tone. 

“ Yes, it must be, Dorothee ? ” 

“ Now, at once, before the time } Oh ! Fraulein 
Hardine, I feel that I shall die then. Ah ! I shall be 
so glad to die. Spare my old father ; do not let him 
go down to his grave in shame.” 

She probably noticed that the appeal to my com- 
passion for the drunken old imbecile produced very 
little effect upon me, for she hastily continued in a 
trembling voice : “ And he — he of whom I cannot 
speak, must his name be caluminated in the same 
breath with that of the outcast creature And in 
the hour when tears are still flowing for him, when 
his poor body has not yet found repose with his 
fathers ? ” 

This child, Dorothee, was an enchantress, or how 
should she always know how to produce an effect at 
the right moment ! No, the secret was not to be 
kept hy halves, and the accusation against the seducer 
must not be permitted to mingle with the death wail, 
for our hero. Before my parents, who had loved him, 


204 RECKENBURG. 

the comrades who admired him, nay, even before 
Dorothee’s little-valued fellow citizens, the last of his 
race must rest in his ancestral tomb with no stain on 
his character. 

“ So be it then, Dorothee, I will keep and guard 
your secret till Siegmund Faber has decided your 
future fate.” 

The agitating conversation closed with this promise. 
Difficult as was the decision, the plan was quickly formed 
and easily executed. Dorothee accompanied me to 
Reckenburg ; everything else was revealed in Nurse 
Justine’s lonely house. The tavern-keeper had no 
voice in the matter ; my parents did not grudge the 
two sorrowful playmates the consolation of each 
other’s society. Scarcely a week later they found 
themselves on the way to Reckenburg under the care 
of the pastor. 

Dorothee was no stranger to my old friend ; I had 
often told him of my bewitching schoolmate. Now I 
introduced her to him as a visitor to Nurse Justine, 
and thereby escaped an actual lie. In fact, if lying 
or deceiving is only to say what is untrue, and not 
also to conceal the truth, I need not be blamed 
throughout this whole affair. To be sure, the sorrow- 
ful woman who leaned timidly back in the corner of 
the carriage, weeping silently, by no means agreed 
with the picture I had drawn of my bright, active 
little Dorl. The pastor’s eyes rested compassion- 
ately on the pale, haggard face. Yes, he suspected 
the truth, but the good man was one of those who 
hold out their hands to penitent sinners. 

How often I had impatiently turned away from our 


THE BATTLE OF VALMY. 


205 


pastor’s mild lessons and practice towards a dis- 
orderly parish. I remembered in particular one ser- 
mon about the adulterous woman, whose text and 
interpretation I repeated to the old countess at din- 
ner. “ The pastor might avoid such doubtful subjects 
but how do they concern us ? ” she replied, and I as- 
sented — even to the conclusion. This was on the 
Sunday before my departure, and to-day I myself 
brought a woman forgetful of right and honor into 
his parish as my prote'g^ ; I, who had thought my life 
so securely founded on the motto of my house. 

Let no one depend upon a maxim if, like Fraulein 
Hardine, he does not wish some day to sit with cheeks 
flushed with shame. Thisy my friends, is the moral 
of the rose and its leaf. 


206 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


CHAPTER VII. 

NURSE Justine's foster-child. 

At the station Dorothea remained behind, and the 
pastor and myself rolled in the gilt coach towards the 
goal of our journey. The countess was asleep when 
I reached the castle. An accident, which I guessed 
only too well, had taxed her strength more severely 
than usual. 

It was Nurse Justine who gave me this informa- 
tion, so the matter which lay nearest my heart 
could be settled at once. Her silence and assent 
were certain, because it was I who asked. Besides 
the affair brought money, and the humiliating de- 
pendence of “ Miss Upstart ” gratification. Grave 
moral scruples of course were out of the question in 
a woman of her profession. 

We therefore came to an agreement without hag- 
glin^. 

The next day the nurse brought her charge from 
the city, took her to board with her, and agreed if 
any one asked questions — which was very improba- 
ble, as peasants are not curious like people in 
cities” — to say that she was a relative, who had 
lately become a widow. Moreover she undertook to 
explain everything to the pastor ; who must be told 
the truth. That our arrangement was punctiliously 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child 207 

executed and attended with the best success may 
be taken for granted. 

It was not without emotion, that I now went to 
meet the countess. /, the young girl, had only lost a 
dream, a fleeting happiness, which I had first known 
since our parting. She^ the aged woman, had seen 
the structure of a long life crumble into ruins. I 
must be prepared for a serious effect. 

But what I was to perceive was the desolation of a 
burning flame, and God knows amid what tortures I 
strove for years against its consuming Are. Even at 
this first meeting, I found the aged form more bent 
— the movements more feeble, the speech more ab- 
rupt ; the only trace of life was in the cold, steely 
glance of avarice. The mistress was dead, and the 
maid, who had early been formed in her service, the 
only ruler in the deserted house. 

NoWy that is since the hour when the death mes- 
sage from Valmy had reached her, she was and daily 
became more and more “ the black countess, ” into 
which the imagination of the people during twenty- 
five years had transformed the lonely woman. Now 
she resembled the legendary demons, who watch and 
guard metals solely for the sake of their brilliancy ; 
who grieve over the copper coins that must be sacri- 
ficed for their most pressing needs. I tell you, I 
have battled like a Hercules for the preservation of 
the most necessary things, and after all it was only 
the habit of eighty years, which mechanically and 
methodically kept up the motive power of the ma- 
chinery. 

The correspondence with Dresden ceased ; the only 


2o8 the last von reckenburg. 

holiday at Reckenburg was omitted, and the name of 
the chosen and lost heir never crossed her lips. She 
no longer thought of dying and bequeathing her 
property. Did any will exist, dated at some earlier 
day, and in whose favor.? No one knew. But the 
testator would not have made a stroke of the pen to 
recall or change it. 07 ie person was the same to her 
as another ; she knew no duties. She wanted to livey 
only live. Eternity would not have seemed too long 
to \itYy alone y with her sparkling treasure. But if one 
day it came to an end, and the earth under her gold 
tower had then opened and swallowed her up with it; 
it would have been to her the most welcome death. 

Fourteen years, the last of my youth, passed in de- 
pendence upon this mummy with but o?te surviving 
sense ; and certainly not without leaving lasting 
traces. Probably the qualities we call womanly 
were originally but feebly developed in my nature ; 
but the hours in the gold tower of Reckenburg, 
though but a few each day and filkd with work, de- 
stroyed the last capacity, the faintest desire for a 
home life, such as had made the modest ground floor 
in the barber’s house so cheerful. The influence of 
those hours has made the western tower of Recken- 
burg also a hermitage, and if, in spite of them, I have 
executed the fundamental bias of my nature, I owe it 
to the sphere of labor under God’s free sky, which re- 
mained open to me. 

You are still too young, my friends, thank God, too 
happy in yourselves, to understand how such a sphere 
of labor can become a world and a fate. But induce 
any old peasant to talk freely, and you will be amazed 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 209 

at the events he has experienced on his patch of 
land. 

But in a creation like that of Reckenburg, accom- 
plished by so much toil, increased to such an extent, 
so productive now, so rich in promise for the future ; 
every foundling of the fields becomes a medium of 
improvement, the smallest crop a living thing. We 
see the harvest in the sprouting blades, and the soil 
for new seeds in the dying stubble. We grieve for 
every tree that falls under the axe, and rejoice in each 
young germ ; we introduce new colonists into the 
narrow circle that has sprung from our clods, our 
knowledge increases, experience becomes more varied 
with each form and color. 

And how we make friends with the animals ; how 
we inquire into their instincts, customs, and laws, 
learn to improve them and make them more and 
more valuable. Watch your herds day after day in 
their pastures, and you will distinguish in each indi- 
vidual sheep or cow a face and a destiny. 

Last of all come the human inhabitants of this se- 
cluded little world. It is no Paradise, my friends. 
The stranger passes the stupid, degenerate beings 
with more indifference than the grazing herds, prizes 
them less than the deer in the forest with their un- 
impaired beauty and unbroken instinct. But step by 
step disgust and weariness disappear, and interest 
awakens. The stolid faces we meet every hour, and 
whose toilsome labor we follow from the cradle to 
the grave become familiar. We shake the rough 
hand that labors with us in the transformation of our 
home, pass from general to individual life, seek for 


210 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


traces of the divine image in our co-laborers, strive to 
make it known to them and raise them higher in the 
scale of beings who recognize and acknowledge a 
Creator. 

Such a little world was subordinate to me^ to me first, 
me alone. I had to protect it from the ruin to which a 
mad passion exposed it ; preserve it for a future, no 
matter whether this future benefitted me or a stranger ; 
and the more difficult was the struggle for the means, 
the more deeply rooted became the affection, the 
more obstinate the resistance. This unselfish love 
gives me more right to gratitude than the free, pro- 
ductive efficiency of after years. 

In this field of labor, I endured more easily than I 
should have expected after the sorrowful episode of 
the autumn, the fatal winter of ’93 with its biting in- 
sults. When the news of the 21st of January brought 
terror into our quiet corner of the country, I thought 
my young hero happy to have died in the last hour of 
hope, while his comrades returned as if from a fool’s 
errand, and were forced to see the royal martyr, for 
whose rescue they had undertaken the crusade, perish 
under the axe of the executioner. 

Dorothee, too, had lived as peacefully as was possi- 
ble in her situation. The autumn brought bright 
days, which tempted her into the open air ; her 
wounds closed in the quiet of the country ; the dis- 
grace did not oppress her, since she met no one who 
could have reproached her with it, and of the sin — if 
she had ever felt it a sin at all — she was the less re- 
minded, as this year Siegmund Faber’s usual Christ- 
mas letter was omitted. 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 21 i 

If in my walks through the forest, which even in 
winter was full of life, I entered Nurse Justine’s 
lonely house, I found Dorothee busily engaged on 
some dainty sewing, such as would be needed by the 
new comer. The maternal instinct awoke, she toyed 
with the little garments as she had formerly held up 
her dolls to my admiring eyes. “ How charming it 
will be ! ” she would exclaim, turning a tiny cap em- 
broidered with beads around her fingers, ‘‘when there 
is an angelic little head in it ! Ah ! how glad I am ! 
I have always been so fond of children, Fraulein 
Hardine.” 

On one of the first days in spring, in emulation of 
the little storks and thrushes, I found the new mortal 
in the nurse’s house. Too soon, as the experienced 
Justine said, although the little man was very sturdy 
and the young mother felt as bright and well as a fish 
in water. Tears of joy fell upon the child in her 
lap. “ So beautiful, so beautiful ! ” she exclaimed in 
delight. “ Ah ! how I love it, how happy I am, 
Fraulein Hardine ! I could never, never leave the 
little angel.” At which rapture the worthy Justine 
made a wry face and whispered to me as I left the 
room : “ It would be the first wild stock that enjoyed 
any lasting love ! Children not born in wedlock 
vanish like chaff ! ” 

But under the rubric “too soon,” she managed, 
lest the child should die, to arrange a hasty baptism 
on the following day, at which she and I became 
sponsors. The boy received his father’s name of 
Augustus, and was legally entered in the church 
register under that of his mother’s family by the pas- 


212 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


tor. No one would have easily sought and found the 
name in the annals of our disorderly little village. 
But when, a few years later, the lightning destroyed 
the church books in the vestry, there was still one 
document left attesting Augustus Muller’s birth, and 
you will find it fastened among these leaves in another 
part of the volume. 

So long as Dorothee kept her room and bed and 
saw her boy lying beside her, she had no wish except 
to remain in Reckenburg as long as possible and 
afterwards live somewhere with him. “ What do I 
care about other people.^” she answered smiling, in 
reply to Nurse Justine’s objections; “I shall have 
my child ! ” But the old woman muttered : “ Non- 
sense about the child. She’s still a child herself ! 
She needs a husband and not a child ! ” 

I secretly and openly scolded my faithful old nurse, 
especially when, even after Dorothee’s restoration to 
health, she took the exclusive charge of the boy and 
made no concealment of her reasons for doing so. 
True, it is possible that the ^‘half-shorn lamb, Dorte,” 
proved too delicate for the care of the strong boy, and 
very probable that the presence of one who had never 
been a favorite at last became burdensome to the old 
woman. At any rate it was certain that the implac- 
able low diamond was playing its pranks again. She 
certainly did not suspect that, during the previous 
summer, the wisdom of the oracle had proved true. 
It was still watching, and was doubly threatening 
under the cap of the shameless girl, whose patroness 
her young lady had become, and she did not rest 
until she saw the dangerous person leave the town. 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 213 

which, since she had herself settled in it, she consid- 
ered Fraulein Hardine’s real home. 

But I clearly saw that when Dorothee found her- 
self obliged to commit her child to a goat for food 
and the care of him to a despotic will, while herself 
confined to the lonely house under the contemptuous 
treatment of her hostess, her heart secretly began to 
long for the freedom and comfort of her own home. 
She grew weary and restless. What is to become 
of me.?” she sighed, I am very unhappy, Fraulein 
Hardine ! ” 

This year I had allowed the usual time of my re- 
turn home to pass, as the countess’ mood and the 
increasing labor brought by the spring made it neces- 
sary to have a constant intercourse between the tower 
and fields. But between seed time and harvest I 
intended to spend a few weeks at home, and had 
decided to travel there by post. I, too, was just 
eighteen, but since the experiences of the previous 
summer I felt independent enough to boldly under- 
take a journey round the world without companion- 
ship. 

Early in May, however, I was called home by an 
exciting incident. My father’s regiment belonged to 
the contingent the Elector had furnished for the war 
against France; but my father himself had remained 
at the depot, and we all, though certainly no cowards, 
heartily rejoiced at it. What could be expected of 
this campaign after the events of last autumn ? Who 
could still hope to be in time to save the unhappy 
queen and her children, after the allies had quietly 
suffered the king to be murdered ? We would, with 


214 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


pious joy, have seen those dearest to us sacrificed for 
the imperiled throne and king of a foreign country ; 
I say we^ my friends, and mean not only us women, 
but with the single exception of the pastor, all the 
men, the brave, daring men of our circle ; yet how 
much trouble did it cause us that German rights 
were derided, German soil on this and the other side 
of the Rhine was laid under contribution, ravaged, 
and seized? Not until twenty years later, after a 
wonderful revolution in feeling, did we learn to know 
the value of our native soil beyond our own province, 
and thereby, not through the oppression of a con- 
queror, who would sooner or later have fallen a victim 
to his own despotic madness, but in consequence of 
this very appreciation, the wars for freedom first be- 
came a great and permanent blessing to our nation. 
With this indifference towards the object of the 
campaign, I felt it as a terrible misfortune when 
my father was suddenly removed from the peaceful 
service he had performed for thirty years, and after 
being promoted to the rank of major, ordered to the 
army before Mayence. 

As soon as I received this news, I prepared to leave 
Reckenburg the following morning, and had only a 
few minutes in which to take leave of the inmates of 
Nurse Justine’s house. In spite of my agitation I 
painfully felt the necessity of representing at home 
that Dorothee had been left behind sick, and in this 
way being compelled to utter the first actual false- 
hood I had ever told in my life. 

It was to be spared me, for to my inexpressible 
astonishment, on reaching the post-house the next 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 215 

morning, I found my protege y prepared for the jour- 
ney, waiting for me, but without her child. “ I could 
not rest, I must kiss your dear father’s hand before 
he goes. He has been such a dear, kind father to 
me also from my earliest childhood, Fraulein Har- 
dine ! ” she sobbed, and then added hastily with 
downcast eyes : “The child is well cared for; Nurse 
Justine understands such things far better than I, 
Fraulein Hardine, and in the autumn you can bring 
me back again.” 

I turned away with unconcealed indignation ; for I 
perceived the secret joy with which she seized any 
pretext for deserting her post. She feared a longer 
absence from home, which might betray her secret, 
longed for her household ease, and gave up her new- 
born child to a stranger, while excusing herself to 
her own heart on the plea of gratitude towards a man 
bound to her by no ties of blood. I vouchsafed no 
reply, and we scarcely exchanged twenty words dur- 
ing the whole journey. She sighed and trembled as 
she had done on the way to Reckenburg, but it did 
not move me ; she looked pale and her eyes were 
swollen with crying ; for the first and only time in 
my life I thought her ugly. The offence against 
duty and honor had not estranged me from her ; the 
weakness of her heart divided our lives. True, in 
after days I could not wholly escape from her influ- 
ence, when I beheld her wonderful beauty ; but while 
away I thought of her with as much contempt as 
did Nurse Justine. I was no longer her friend ; the last 
tie formed in childhood was sundered, and I was 
scarcely eighteen years old. 


2i6 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


The parting from my father was harder than I had 
anticipated. The terrible memories of the retreat, 
which had taken place the previous autumn and whose 
details I first heard at home, made us fear that we 
should never see each other again. My poor mother 
almost succumbed to the effort of conducting herself 
as a soldier’s wife. She smiled at the consolation of 
honest Purzel — the last Purzel in the Reckenburg 
service — “Keep up your courage, my lady. I’ll at- 
tend to everything. Nothing will happen to him ; 
and if anything does^ I ’ll come and tell you at once.” 
She smiled and provided everything that could be use- 
ful to a sick or wounded man, but her delicate consti- 
tution never recovered from the sorrows and anxieties 
of the years of separation. 

The evening before the departure of the troops I 
went to Dorothee, who had nestled comfortably down 
again in her little room, and began without any cir- 
cumlocution : “ I see you will never summon up cour- 
age to make a voluntary confession, Dorothee, so let 
me tell my father your secret. The Saxon army will 
join the Prussian forces before Mayence. Siegmund 
Faber can easily be found, and my father will be the 
most reliable mediator and best advocate for you.” 

She started as if a thunderbolt had fallen, and it 
was long ere she was mistress of the childish per- 
suasions, with which she had already once defeated 
my convictions of right. “ Oh ! don’t do that, Frau- 
lein Hardine ! ” she exclaimed fairly beside herself. 
“For God’s sake, don’t. Let the whole world, let 
my own father know me as an abandoned, dishonored 
creature, but not that good, unsuspicious gentleman ! 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 217 

And would he, will he be able to conceal it from your 
mother } How should I appear before her and con- 
tinue to live under the same roof ? She is so strict, 
so proud! Besides you, too, would have to suffer, 
Fraulein Hardine ! And when one person knows the 
secret, it will go like wild fire. I have deserved nothing 
else, I must submit. But I could not bear to see 
you, who have been an angel to me, also censured, 
blamed by your own dear parents. And why must 
all this be ? ” she continued after a pause, during 
which I had been reflecting upon this unexpected 
obstacle. 

My father, as I knew, would really scarcely have 
been able to keep a first secret from his wife over 
night and certainly not after the first letter. Should 
I add this new trial to my poor mother’s sorrow 
The friendly relation with the owner of the house 
would be destroyed, her confidence in the frankness 
and honesty of her only daughter completely shaken. 
Even my more indulgent father would be unable to 
resist my mother’s views and part with a troubled 
heart from his undutiful child, perhaps for life. 

“ And what is the use of disturbing us all ? ” con- 
tinued Dorothee, encouraged by my evident emotion. 
“ Is he still alive He has not written all winter.” 

“Letters rarely reach their destination in such 
times, ” I replied; “but we should have received the 
news of his death.” 

“And even if he lives,” replied Dorothee, “in 
what distant hospital or new position is he to be 
found ? The country occupied by the troops is so ex- 
tensive ; God knows whether your father will ever 


2i8 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


meet him. But if he does and I know a place to 
which I can send my letter, I will confess all ; yes, 
Fraulein Hardine, I promise you to confess all to him 
and do as he says. Only do not let any one else in- 
terpose between us.” 

So Fraulein Hardine was again conquered by lit- 
tle Dorl. My father went away without hearing our 
secret. Nay, fearing that it might be discovered, I 
only ventured to timidly request that he would in- 
quire about Faber and tell us all the particulars con- 
cerning him. 

Tears filled the good man’s eyes, as he tried to 
utter some jesting words at parting. “ Tell dear little 
Dorl, Dine, that I will make all due inquiries about 
her Mosjo Per-s6.” 

And in fact the first letter from the encampment 
before Castel, where the Saxons had joined a portion 
of the Prussian troops, contained a full account of the 
man of whom we had heard no tidings since the battle 
of Valmy. He had fortunately survived all the dan- 
gers of attending the sick during an epidemic and, 
promoted to the rank of surgeon-major, was now at- 
tached to the corps of besiegers. The fame of his 
indefatigableness, fearlessness, and great skill had 
spread throughout the whole camp ; all praised the 
young man’s zeal in his profession. The former in- 
mates of the barber’s house soon met, and the state 
of affairs at home were eagerly discussed. Had not 
the model betrothed’s ears burned a little } 

“You must on no account,” my father wrote in 
conclusion, “imagine Dr. Faber as the stiff army 
surgeon’s assistant, who always looked as if he had 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 219 

just stepped out of a bandbox, in order to let no one 
suspect that he had descended from a barber. He is 
as easy as any one, now that generals and princes, as 
well as common soldiers, are obliged to keep still 
under his knives and pincers. He has also become 
more agreeable and open hearted, but still remains 
the old Per-se who sets about everything differently 
from other people, and yet on close examination is 
always right. When I pointed out the risk he in- 
curred, by so rarely reminding his young, lonely be- 
trothed of the relation to which she had consented, 
he assured me, it is true, that he had sent his regular 
letter at Christmas, and since he said so, it must have 
been lost. ‘ Yet ’ — he added — ‘ what is the use of 
this unnecessary labor } ’ ” 

Just at that moment he was summoned to attend a 
consultation about the case of a general who was seri- 
ously ill on the left bank of the river. I had begged 
him to look after two of our hussars who had been 
wounded in a skirmish between the outposts, and the 
following day received a letter containing most satis- 
factory news. In conclusion he recurred to the sub- 
ject in whose discussion we had been interrupted the 
day before, and for the benefit of my dear ‘ Fraulein 
Original-text ’ I will cut that portion from his letter 
and enclose it in mine.” 

“In regard to the risk, as you rightly call it, Herr Major, 
no warning words will avert the danger. And relief from 
anxiety — who can obtain it at the distance of hundreds of 
miles? Before a letter reaches its destination, the scene 
changes, and he over whose safety friends are rejoic- 
ing, is perhaps mouldering in the grave. In both cases 


220 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


the only comfort is confidence in a lucky star, or complete 
resignation. Letters are for idlers or moderate workers. 
Shall I entertain my dear child with military evolutions 
and diplomatic strategems, or make her flesh creep with 
my repulsive medical experiences ? And vows, protesta- 
tions of love ! Is it not the most superlative folly, to send 
the most secret, unutterable emotions of the human heart, 
transformed in commonplaces and written in black and 
white, travelling about the world ? How constrained 
my little Dorothee’s scrawls are ! How I can count the 
hours she has gnawed her pen ! Where are her flowers 
and birds, her childish amusements? Where is any trace 
to be found of what really lives in and around her? I value 
the little pouches and bags she has knit. I use them hourly, 
and whenever I see them I also see the nimble little fin- 
gers engaged in their preparation. These are acts, womanly 
acts of love, Herr Major, and as I cannot requite them 
with similar ones, I do well not to boast of my affectionate 
loyalty. 

“ You assure me of the dear child’s quiet patience, my 
honored friend, and I cannot tell you how happy it makes 
me to see my school boy experiment thus justified, an ex- 
periment which in later years I should not have tried. I 
felt that I was a ma7i and saw in her the child^ the one 
perhaps too soon^ and the other possibly too long. But on 
the whole I judged according to nature and reason. For 
from whom, I ask, could such abstemiousness have been 
expected, except from the matt., who is accustomed to 
stand sentry over himself, or the child^ who slumbers 
dreamlessly in her peaceful little nest, until roused by him 
who is appointed to awake her. Well, Herr Major, the 
man will be constant. The state of affairs which I foresaw 
when I made this engagement, has already lasted two 
years, and Heaven knows when and where the confusion 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 221 

will end. But if I survive it, I shall take my father’s 
wedding ring into her presence unprofaned, and if I see 
my mother’s on her hand, shall bless the boyish faith that 
endured while many a man’s was violated.” 

This experimental resignation, which my unsus- 
picious mother did not withhold, was grist to the 
mill of the sinner who so eagerly avoided making a 
confession. The singular man certainly requested 
no explanation, and until he came to obtain it in per- 
son — if he ever came at all — why could not every- 
thing remain unchanged ! I was weary of explaining 
the incongruity to the empty air. If she was not 
ashamed to pass for the betrothed bride of the 
man she had betrayed, if she did not shrink from 
making her own life and that of another’s child more 
comfortable with his property, why should I feel 
ashamed and shrink from it } Was she my sister, 
my equal ? Folly of follies, to expect noble senti- 
ments from the inn-keeper’s wanton daughter. If 
Siegmund Faber returned, it would be incumbent 
upon me to exculpate myself ^ not her^ to a man of 
honor. 

As an excuse for Dorothee, and in order to have 
done with her philosophical lover, it must however be 
stated, that a later letter announced the mysterious 
disappearance of Doctor Faber. During an attack 
on the hostile camp at Pirmasenz in the latter part of 
September, he had won still greater admiration by 
his bold, untiring activity — but since then had 
vanished from all eyes. At first it was supposed that 
he had been transferred to the Polish province 
which had recently been so shamefully obtained, 


222 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


among the followers of the king, who had learned to 
feel a strong personal esteem for him ; but as this 
opinion proved to be a mistaken one, some thought 
he had been wounded and fallen into the enemy’s 
hands, others that he had been captured by the infu- 
riated peasants. The majority believed him dead, 
though his body could not be found by the victors, 
who retained possession of the field. All, however, 
regretted the void made by the disappearance of the 
ever active surgeon. Even when, at the end of three 
years, my father returned safe and with a new order 
as a reward for his services, but sorrowful like all 
who took part in the fruitless campaign, he could 
give no tidings of the vanished man. He was soon 
forgotten by his fellow citizens, and no one would 
have blamed his betrothed bride, if she had wished to 
give her lovely self and the old barber’s house to 
another. 

I had not been willing to leave my mother during 
the anxious years of the campaign, and only at the 
pressing entreaties of both parents made up my mind 
to return to Reckenburg. “In your father’s exposed 
situation and our poverty,” said my mother, “the 
countess is your and my last hope. Do not trifle 
with it, my dear daughter. You can be of use there^ 
but can do nothing for me. I am not sick, and if 
anything happens, have I not the dear child, Dor- 
othee .? ” 

The dear child, Dorothee ! To imagine her, with 
her affectionate, somewhat bustling manner, beside a 
sick bed — really nothing more consoling could occur 
to me, as she no longer seriously thought of return- 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 223 

ing to the lonely forest house, and her father’s severe 
illness enabled her to deceive herself about the nearer 
duty. “Keep an eye on my darling, Fraulein Har- 
dine,” she whispered as I bade her farewell ; “ I will 
help and serve your mother in your place.” 

So we parted, and when towards Christmas the 
first news of Faber’s disappearance was received, I 
had already been a long time at my post at Recken- 
burg, and Dorothee — to my secret satisfaction — re- 
mained quietly at home in her room. There I found 
her, when the following year — though only fora few 
weeks in summer — I returned home, apparently un- 
changed, working industriously to enlarge her income 
by means of dainty embroideries, that her boy might 
lack no care, no finery. When in the evening she 
laid aside caps or spangled slippers, she drew baby 
faces or cut them out of black paper as silhouettes, 
laid them between the leaves of her hymn book and 
kissed them as likenesses of her beautiful boy. She 
made him little petticoats and dresses, wove flowers 
out of the light curls which I was obliged to cut from 
his head for her every year, twined around them a 
golden thread of her own hair, as well as one or two 
of another’s, drawn from a beloved memento, and 
called them her sun-flowers. She embraced every 
child she saw, rejoiced and wept when she thought of 
her own; but she did not see Nurse Justine’s nurs- 
ling again. Even when her father died, when mine 
had also gone to his last home, and she was perfectly 
independent, she did not think that it was she, and 
not a stranger, who ought to take charge of her 
child. 


224 the last von reckenburg. 

But I could not awaken her conscience by the power 
of this duty. For a human being’s growth, like that 
of a tree — as I gradually understood — may increase 
in width and at all events in height ; but its roots can- 
not dig deeper to reach the nourishing spring. We 
must cherish or avoid each other, as nature has 
planted us. For the rest, I told myself that the 
fatherless boy would develop better under the 
stranger’s rough hand than his mother’s caressing 
one. And lastly, did I not keep an eye upon him } 

As when a child I had never played with dolls, so 
in after years I was not what people call fond of 
children. But I became warmly attached to this boy. 
When on my walks through the village I saw the shy, 
dull, flaxen haired peasant children squatting on their 
dung heaps among the pigs and chickens, and on 
reaching the forest the supple little figure in its dainty 
dress sprang forward to meet me, I laughed aloud 
with delight, but sadly asked myself if his father, 
whom my little prince so strongly resembled, would 
not have accomodated himself to the usual fetters of 
life, if he had been responsible for the guidance of 
this dear child ? 

How early and firmly he learned to use his little 
feet, how boldly he frolicked in the forest, vied with 
hares in running, and imitated the notes of the birds 
long before he could speak our human language ! 
With what a defiant laugh he copied the squirrel, 
climbed to the top of the gnarled ash tree, while old 
Nurse Justine, in mortal terror, stood at the foot 
shaking her clinched hand at him ! So nature early 
became- a teacher of the child of nature ; but the neces- 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 225 

sity of subjecting him to a sterner discipline and the 
authority of a masculine will soon manifested itself. 
When the boy was in his fifth year, Nurse Jus- 
tine declared that she could not and would not 
manage him after the next winter. 

For there was nothing more curious, and to me 
nothing more annoying, than the discord in the old 
nurse’s soul about her foster child ! She liked the 
merry little fellow, nay was very fond of him ; but as 
soon as she saw him approach me, such an angry mood 
came over her that, if there had been bears and wolves 
in our forest, she would have driven him out among 
them. Nothing good will come to you through the 
* wild stock’,” she was never weary of repeating. 
The adage so current in the country about the soiling 
pitch and the spirit whose warning voice speaks 
mysteriously from the cards harmonized in this ad- 
monition. And, faithful old Justine, could you fore- 
see that, forty years after, the question whether any 
good would come to your young lady through the 
wild-shoot, would form the concluding reflection of 
her life ? 

No persuasions were of any avail, the boy must go, 
leave Reckenburg ; and another consideration gave 
this resolution weight with me. Our faithful friend, 
the pastor, had left us a short time before to accept, 
as principal of the Laurentius cloister, a position 
more in accordance with his fatherly warmth of feel- 
ing. During the vacation the pulpit was filled by the 
various clergymen in the neighborhood, who troubled 
themselves very little about the affairs of the village. 
But when, during the summer, the newly chosen 


226 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


pastor became familiar with the place, the singular 
circumstances connected with our proUg^ could not 
fail to attract his attention. If the pastor asked 
questions, the truth could not be concealed ; one 
person more would know Dorothee’s carefully guarded 
secret; curious investigations, feminine gossip, or 
some unaccountable accident might lead people into 
the right track, and the always interesting connection 
of events escape from our secluded nook into the 
mouths of the world. 

All this I impressed upon Dorothee’s mind, as 
soon as I returned to my parents’ house to spend 
a few weeks in the autumn. I found her in a very 
thoughtful mood, already prepared for what I had to 
say by the pastor, under which name his reverence, 
now provost and head, is here mentioned in these 
pages for the last time. 

Never since her misfortune had Dorothee mingled 
with young people, never by word or glance encour- 
aged the attentions of the citizens’ sons, when she 
chanced to meet them, and thus she kept at a distance 
the suitors of whom there would have been no lack. 
But she had also never mentioned to me the name of 
the only man she had ever loved. Yet whenever I 
surprised her alone, I perceived by her manner, by 
the dreamy or longing expression of her eyes, that 
the short summer rapture of happiness had not died 
away. 

“Yet ever, wheresoe’er she turned, she saw the face of 
one, 

To whom, in days of childhood, her trusting heart had 
flown.” 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 227 

I was, therefore, the more surprised, when in re- 
ply to my question about what she had decided in re- 
gard to her son’s future, she answered with downcast 
eyes : “ Suppose I should marry Christlieb Taube, 
Fraulein Hardine?” 

Our tutor ? Has he offered himself to you ? ” 

“ He has loved me ever since my childhood, and 
told me so a few days ago.” 

“ And you } ” 

She shook back her curls with an indescribable 
expression of sorrow and proud remembrance. 

“ Love ? I ? ” she exclaimed with a shudder. Oh ! 
never, never again ! But,” she added calmly after a 
pause, “ but I could live peacefully with him, and he 
would be a good father to my boy.” 

“ So you intended to confess your secret to him, 
Dorothee ? ” 

“Why should I not, Fraulein Hardine.^ I should 
only marry him to provide for the child. Only for 
the child’s sake.” 

“ Will you confess it to him before he has become 
your husband } ” 

“ If you think it my duty, before.” 

“And do you suppose that he will stz/l marry 
you } ” 

“I think so, Fraulein Hardine.” 

I paused a moment. Dorothee was sitting opposite 
to me, with her hands clasped on her breast. My 
eyes involuntarily rested upon the betrothal ring, 
which she still wore on her finger. She noticed the 
glance and said blushingly, as she vainly endeavored to 
draw it off. “ It has grown into my flesh.” 


228 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

It was eight years since Siegmund Faber had gone 
away, five years since he had disappeared without 
leaving any trace ; no one doubted his death. But it 
he were alive — and a secret voice ever whispered 
“ he lives ! ” — if he were alive and returned ; this 
man could never become this woman’s husband. But 
what milder disappointment could be found for him, 
than to see the long period of betrothal at last come 
to an end in a manner so natural. I therefore knew 
of no objection to make, if a man could really be found 
who did not see his own honor sullied by the dishonor 
of his wife. 

But we decided to lay the whole case before our 
faithful counsellor, and went to the cloister. 

“ I do not deny your right to consider yourself free, 
my child,” said the provost, “ and for my own part I 
should not blame the man, who forgave the woman 
he loved a single error and, uniting himself to her, 
strove to turn its effect upon others into blessing. 
But I have reason to believe that our consistory does 
not share this opinion. The boy’s presence would of 
course betray your secret, your husband would be 
compelled to give up his place as a teacher, the only 
one for which he has been educated and fitted.” 

We should live quietly in the country, and — I 
am not without property,” faltered Dorothee, her 
cheeks crimson with shame. 

‘‘ Sufficient for yourself, and at all events for your 
child. But is it enough for a second, perhaps numer- 
ous family } And suppose, although the case is very 
improbable, that Siegmund Faber should return ; he 
would not take back his gift, and he ought not to do 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 229 

so. But must it not crush a nature like that of our 
Taube’s, to the very earth, to see the support of him- 
self and family dependent upon the betrothal gift of 
the man who has been deceived ? Moreover — to say 
nothing of these two possible cases — do you know 
what the life of a country teacher is, my dear 
Dorothee ? ” 

This conversation took place on the way back from 
the cloister ; but unnoticed by us our companion had 
turned aside into a path which led through a neigh- 
boring village, and as the last words were uttered he 
paused before a little house, whose purpose was an- 
nounced by a multisonous, hesitating chorus, chiming 
in with the thundering tones of the teacher. A school- 
house, and by no means the humblest of its kind, for 
the injuries sustained in the Seven Years war had 
been repaired, and it now stood unscathed. 

Notwithstanding this, we could not deny that the 
sitting-room, into which we cast a glance in passing, 
was somewhat dull and bare for an idyllic life. Little 
Dorl could have touched the ceiling with her hand. 
The window panes looked like square slates, which 
had become tarnished by constant use in school, and 
the beets boiling on the stove for the cow sent forth 
an odor by no means refreshing. We continued our 
tour of inspection and lingered to scan the dull little 
human flock and their faithful bald-headed shepherd. 

Unquestionably a teacher’s life /las its poetry. But 
it would have been no disadvantage in our eyes, if a 
little of the chubbiness of the children’s cheeks could 
have been transferred to their master’s ; nor should we 
have considered it culpable vanity for him to exchange 


230 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

his coat, which had once been cotton velvet, for some 
other garment. To make amends, however, we paid 
the tribute of our sincere admiration to the progress 
in the art of mosaic work, visible in the family wash 
hung over the garden fence. 

This work of art probably tempted our guide to 
enable us — after having made the acquaintance of 
the ruler of the school — to seethe mistress of the 
house^ surrounded by her private flock. Once more a 
chorus of voices tempted us across the court yard to a 
field, which bore the proud name of ‘‘garden.” Here 
stood the heroine of our idyl. A classic figure, with 
a huge apron, her step untrammelled by shoes, her 
bushy hair unornamented by any art. The intruders 
did not disturb her in her business. With wonder- 
ful strength she quietly dug potatoes, which a party 
of young children picked up. The uprooted weeds 
were given as dainties to the goats and kids, which 
showed their delight by merry gambols. The small 
bipeds applauded the quadrupeds, the work stopped, 
and the pioneer displayed the power of her lungs and 
limbs in setting it in motion again. 

But a tragic interlude now occurred in the rural 
scene. The oldest daughter, the family nurse, who 
was not yet trained to be as stoical as her mother, 
stood leaning against the gate of the courtyard. In 
staring at the strangers, the baby slipped from her 
arms and fell — fortunately into the mire before the 
pig sty. With upraised hands the mother darted 
forward to rescue and avenge it ; the eldest daughter 
screamed, the infant shrieked, the sows grunted, the 
goats bleated, and the cow lowed in the stable. The 


NURSE Justine’s foster-child. 231 

boys quarreled over the prize of a yellow turnip ; the 
heroic mother dealt blows right and left; alarmed by 
the danger that threatened those dearest to him, the 
haggard teacher in his whilom cotton velvet coat ap- 
peared surrounded by his noisy flock ; but we who 
had caused the storm glided noiselessly away across 
the meadow. 

“ A worthy woman ! Exactly suited for her posi- 
tion ! ” said our friend, who was well versed in human 
nature, with a smile after a long pause. Dorothee 
walked silently onward with drooping head — and 
henceforth there was nothing said about marrying 
Christlieb Taube. 

My approaching departure at last made it necessary 
to come to some decision about the boy’s future, and 
the provost proposed that he should be placed in the 
cloister of which he was principal. Although it was 
originally intended only for soldiers’ orphans, he 
hoped that an exception might be made in the child’s 
favor if, when the trustees visited the institution a 
part of the secret, his descent on the father s side, 
was judiciously intimated. 

Dorothee wept for joy at the prospect of soon hav- 
ing her boy under the care of this kind protector, and 
in her own neighborhood, without being forced to ex. 
pose herself to a disgraceful disclosure. She covered 
her benefactor’s hands with tears and kisses, implored 
God to bless him, and placed at his disposal the 
whole of the income she received from her house to 
defray the child’s expenses as a half pensioner. 

My soul, on the contrary, rebelled at the idea of 
seeing the prince’s child who ought to have inherited 


232 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


the estate of Reckenburg, smuggled into a charitable 
institution and educated for a subordinate position in 
life. But what better plan had I to propose ? The 
cloister bore an excellent reputation, like the majority 
of our Saxon abbeys which had been transformed into 
schools, was well endowed, and under the admirable 
care of the only man who felt a fatherly interest in 
the boy. Must I not, in this change of circumstances, 
respect the dispensation of a higher power ? 

So I set out on my return to Reckenburg, with the 
promise, that the following spring I would myself 
take Nurse Justine’s foster-child to the orphan 
institution. 


THE WEDDING. 


233 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE WEDDING. 

Nurse Justine was violently opposed to the boy’s 
concealment in the orphan asylum, as well as my 
plan of taking him there in person. She suddenly 
felt an unconquerable desire to see her own home 
again, and what reason could I have had for declin- 
ing her companionship on the journey } 

The day of our arrival had already been announced 
to my parents, when a violent attack of the countess’ 
caused a delay. Her strong constitution triumphed, 
as had often happened before and frequently occurred 
after. But the faithful nurse was obliged to remain 
to guard the endangered post with the armor of her 
instruments, while her young lady, twelve miles 
away, was exposed without assistance to the malice 
of the incorrigible low diamond. She managed, how- 
ever, to deprive the little plebeian of the honor of be- 
ing conveyed the first stage of his journey in the 
Reckenburg coach, by dragging him to the station in 
a little hand-cart, after having, as I strongly suspect 
given him a sleeping potion. Her last words, as she 
lifted the child into the one-horse chaise beside me, 
were a warning not to go into his asylum on any ac- 
count. 


234 the last von reckenburg. 

How the little hobgoblin raged when he awoke in 
the narrow box, you will learn from Augustus Muller’s 
recollections. Moreover, I cannot contradict his as- 
sertions in regard to the means used to tame him. 
At all events, he chose the most comfortable arrange- 
ment for us both, by sleeping nearly all the tiresome 
journey. 

The last letter of his future foster father was dated 
from a little mountain village in Thuringia, where he 
had been present at his son’s installation into his first 
parish and, at the same time, had the pleasure of pro- 
curing the disappointed lover, Christlieb Taube, a 
better position. The situation of teacher and organ- 
ist in a small, orderly parish, with a little house and 
garden comfortably fitted up by the owner of the es- 
tate, and the instruction of this owner’s children in 
the “divine art of music,” all this in a romantic 
mountain and woodland solitude ; what fairer fate 
could he have desired for himself, or we for him ? 

As I wished the provost to enjoy the rare pleasure 
of a journey as long as possible, I had addressed the 
letter containing the news of the delay in our arrival 
to Jen3.,poste restante ; and was surprised to find him 
at the hotel in Leipsic, the “Golden Lute,” where I 
usually spent the night. I smilingly asked what 
other installation had brought him so hastily in the 
opposite direction ? 

“The installation of this boy into his new home,” 
he answered gravely, as he laid the sleeping child on 
the bed in my room. 

I perceived symptoms of Nurse Justine’s feelings 
in the reverend gentleman, and therefore answered in 


THE WEDDING. 


235 


a tone of vexation, that I could have taken the little 
monk to the Laurentius cloister in safety without 
any trouble on his part. 

He was silent, but a shade of restless anxiety in 
the manner of one usually so composed did not es- 
cape my notice, and when, in answer to my inquiry 
whether he had anything on his mind, he shook his 
head with a sigh, I exclaimed : “ Pray don’t attempt 
to prepare me for bad news, my friend, my parents — ” 

“ Are well and happy in the expectation of their 
beloved daughter’s visit,” he replied. 

“ And Dorothee } ” I continued, as I noticed the 
sorrowful glance that rested on the boy. “ Is Dor- 
othee ill ? ” 

“ Not ill, only — ” 

*‘Only.?” 

“ Married, or the same as married.” 

“So she has accepted Christlieb Tahbe ?” 

“ Not Christlieb Taube, but — ” 

“ Well .? ” 

“ Siegmund Faber.” 

Siegmund Faber ! This was certainly news which 
made the blood recede to my heart. I had never 
doubted either that he was alive, or that he would re- 
turn home ; but so unexpectedly — I sank into a chair 
as if overwhelmed. 

“ Did you see him ?” I asked after a long pause. 

“No,” he replied. 

“ Did you see Dorothee then } ” 

“No, I have not seen her either.” 

“ But from whom did you learn .? ” — 

“From your father, Fraulein Hardine.” 


236 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


“ When, when, when ” 

“Yesterday afternoon, as soon as I returned from 
my journey.” 

“ And do you know, do you think that Dorothee 
has confessed the truth to him — Faber ? ” 

“ I do not know. But you, my young friend, who 
are far better acquainted with her than I — do you 
think so } ” 

“ No ! ” I said positively, and he also shook his 
head. “ And yet she is married, really married ? ” I 
asked. 

“ The bans were to be published to-day for the last 
time. If the wedding has perhaps been deferred 
until to-morrow, it was done in expectation of your 
arrival, Fraulein Hardine.” 

“ This very morning, and you learned it yesterday, 
man ! ” I shrieked, shaking him violently by the arm. 
“You had time, why did you not interfere.?” 

“ Because my interference was not requested,” he 
answered quietly, “and because, unasked, it would 
have been useless, or even dangerous, at so late an 
hour.” 

“ It will, if God pleases, not be useless even at this 
hour, and avert, not cause, the greatest danger,” I 
said, and rushed out of the room. 

After I had told the hotel keeper to order post 
horses for me at once, I returned to the provost, who 
was sitting thoughtfully beside the sleeping boy, hold- 
ing his hand in his. I paced impatiently up and 
down the room. Never in my life had I been so 
agitated. Each moment’s delay seemed an eternity. 
I would gladly have fastened wings to my shoulders 
and flown away. 


THE WEDDING. 


237 


** Calm yourself, my dear child,” said my friend at 
last. “You will reach your home to-night. A few 
minutes earlier or later will make no difference ; you 
will be soon enough or too late.” 

“ Then tell me the whole story,” I exclaimed ; and 
the old man, with intentional prolixity, began. 

“ When I found your letter in Jena, I remained there 
some days in the gayest spirits, engrossed in literary 
pleasures, whose description I will spare you to-day, 
Fraulein Hardine. Not until early yesterday morn- 
ing did I enter the post-chaise to return to the insti- 
tution. My good fortune procured me a polished and 
learned traveling companion, who, though I did not 
know his name, proved to be a distinguished physician 
in Berlin. 

“ The conversation, as it could hardly fail to do in 
the present condition of affairs, soon turned from our 
mutual peaceful interests to the disturbed state of 
the times, the phenomenal developments which, as it 
were, are whirled aloft in the confusion like a cloud of 
dust, only to suddenly fall back in the mud and mire. 
So how could we fail to mention the genius of the 
young commander, who is even now preparing for a 
campaign, in order both on land and sea to shake the 
foundations of the power of the last unconquered 
enemy of republican France. 

“ ‘ I have heard some very interesting disclosures 
about General Bonaparte from an eye-witness of his 
Italian campaign,’ said the Prussian gentleman in 
the course of our conversation. ‘This eye-witness, 
with whom a short time ago I set out on my little 
tour of recreation, is a man in my own profession. 


238 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

who has for some weeks roused a perfect fever of 
excitement among the inhabitants of Berlin, who 
have such a longing for novelties, and although a 
dangerous rival of mine, really deserves to be held up 
as a notable example how a superior nature can make 
even the rude, bloody scenes of the present time valu- 
able as material for acquiring greater skill in a peace- 
ful profession. 

“ ‘ Imagine, sir, a young Saxon barber, whose only 
training was that obtained in a practice sought with 
the utmost toil, who saw in the Prussian preparations 
for war a favorable field for his efforts, and by a series 
of fortunate accidents obtained it. The unfortunate 
campaigns of ’92 and ’93 gave him an opportunity to 
display his zeal and talent in the brightest colors. 
He, who has been matriculated by no faculty, passed 
no examination, came forth from the plague-stricken 
hospital as surgeon-major ; men of high rank owed 
him relief and healing, the widest sphere of influence 
opened before him even in peaceful times. During 
the attack on the camp of Neuhornbach, where he 
had been in attendance on the king, he delayed to 
attend to the wants of a severely wounded enemy, 
and fell into the hands of the French. He was taken 
to Paris ; his lucky star had ordered that the person 
who owed his life to him should be a prominent man ; 
through him he obtained permission to visit various 
institutions and hospitals. The great, excited capital, 
the numerous victims of the battle fields, nay, those 
who perished under the headsman’s axe afforded a 
field for energetic labor. Even amid this tumultuous 
world a watchful glance ever and anon fell upon the 
stranger who was so ceaseless in investigations. 


rm WEDDING. 


239 


‘“The peace of Basle restored all prisoners to their 
native land. Our doctor also had liberty to go. But 
he remained. ‘What would you have,’ he said to 
me, ‘ a physician, as such, makes no distinctions be- 
tween home and a foreign land, friend or foe. He 
only separates the sick and well, delicate and strong 
as material, and seeks, so long as he is studying, the 
most favorable sphere for his profession and duty.’ 
He voluntarily accompanied the army to Italy; the 
young German doctor entered the circle of vision of 
the hero of Lodi and Areola. He remained a year, 
which was spent partly in exercising his skill, partly 
in studying in Bologna, watched the injurious or 
beneficial influence of a southern climate on invalids 
and wounded men, and when Europe had scarcely 
recovered its repose after the peace of Campo Formio 
returned from republican ized Italy to Paris. 

“ ‘ Here brilliant offers were made him to join the 
mysterious expedition by sea, in which we now see 
the bold Corsican involved with the army destined to 
make war upon England. ‘ But,’ said our doctor, 
‘ I was no adventurer. While in a foreign country I 
had appropriated everything that could be of use at 
home, and I fear will be needed only too soon in a 
time of heavy trial.’ So he appeared about a month 
ago in Berlin, where he was an utter stranger. A 
Caesar of the knife and pincers, he came, saw, and 
conquered. Rumor, rapid and mysterious as the 
wind, sounded his praises as a prodigy. Comrades 
in the army, who owed him gratitude for his aid in the 
Rhine campaigns, welcomed him with splendid enter- 
tainments ; his peaceful colleagues pricked up their 


240 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

ears at the tale of the champion of their profession, 
who, to perfect himself in his studies, had voluntarily 
thrust his head into the lion’s mouth ; the young 
king, remembering his self-sacrificing labors during 
the epidemic after the campaign in Champagne, re- 
ceived him and wished to see his experiences made 
useful in the newly established Pepini^re ; the crowd 
thronged around the witness of revolutionary horrors 
and dangers, the description of which made their hair 
stand on end. Almost before one had time to breathe, 
he was in everybody’s mouth ; his colleagues listened 
to his genial aphorisms ; the unlearned, before trying 
what the man could do, were satisfied with what he 
had experienced ; ere curiosity had passed away, a 
large practice was secured. In short, never has an 
ambitious young practitioner commenced his career 
under more favorable auspices. We elders shall be 
obliged to hide our diminished heads, for our academ- 
ical wisdom is far surpassed by his daring method.’ 

I need not tell you, Fraulein Hardine,” the old 
man continued after a short pause, “ ivhose image 
rose vividly before me during this description, and 
that my question as to the hero’s name was an idle 
one. In the reply, ‘ Doctor, now Geheimerath Faber,’ 
only the title surprised me. 

We had approached the place where I stopped to 
take the road to the institution. ‘ If I understand 
you correctly, sir,’ I said, after taking leave of the 
stranger, * if I understand you correctly, Doctor Fa- 
ber accompanied you on your journey into this neigh- 
borhood. You will pardon my curiosity, when 1 tell 
you that I hope to meet in his native city one who 


THE WEDDING. 


241 


has long been deemed dead.’ ‘ Your hope will be 
fulfilled, sir,’ replied my companion. 'We travelled 
together as far as Halle ; there I stopped, while he 
continued his journey without delay. 'On family 
affairs,’ as he said.’ ' And when was this ? ’ I asked 
again. ' Yesterday, a week ago Friday,’ replied the 
stranger, and the post-chaise rolled away. 

" I had returned from my visit to Thuringia that 
very day, so that the decision in your home must 
have been made within a week. Might I hope that 
this decision had given my expected foster child a 
father.!* .Must I fear that it had robbed him of his 
mother I went to the institution in the greatest 
suspense. 

" I had scarcely reached it, when my short-sighted 
old housekeeper told me, that early in the morning of 
the day after my departure, a lady dressed in the city 
fashion and closely veiled, inquired for me, and on 
hearing of my departure, begged permission to leave 
her message in writing. I found the sheet without 
signature, but sealed, on my writing table, and read 
the few words : ' As soon as you return, reverend 
sir, pray let me know. But for God’s sake, do not 
come near me or the family, until you have sent me 
word.’ 

" She undoubtedly desired to have an interview to 
determine her child’s future, and feared an intentional 
or accidental discovery. I now knew what decision 
she had made.” 

"You knew it ! ” I cried, interrupting the narrator 
for the first time, " and did not hasten to avert the 
impending misfortune.” 


242 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

My friend replied : In spite of the prohibition, I 
was just in the act of examining into the condition of 
affairs on the spot, when a visit from your father, 
Fraulein Hardine, spared me the necessity. He was 
hoping to hear through me news from Reckenburg 
which would explain the delay in your arrival, and as 
I could give him this information, I begged him not 
to be anxious if the longed for visitor should be de- 
layed several days more. 

“ * It is by no means from anxiety that I have come, 
but on the contrary, out of pure joy, my friend,’ he 
replied. ‘ Only I should like to have my Pine with 
us at a — family festival, I may almost say — as 
bridesmaid at the marriage of our little Dorl and — 
guess — ’ ” 

“‘And Geheimerath Faber,’ I said, completing the 
sentence, and then in a few words related how I had 
heard of the man’s return, and begged him to tell me 
the impression the long parted lovers had made on 
each other, and how the affair had been brought to a 
conclusion so speedily. 

“ I will now endeavor to make the statement as 
nearly as possible in your father’s own words, but 
permit you to draw your own inferences, Fraulein 
Hardine. 

‘“On Friday evening we were sitting quietly to- 
gether. My wife was spinning, I smoking. Sud- 
denly we heard the house-door hastily open and shut, 
then a quick, elastic step in the entry, and three raps, 
as if made with a small hammer, on the door of the 
room. The sound of the door, the step, the rap, 
were all familiar. I dropped my pipe, Adelheid her 


THE WEDDING. 


243 


thread : * Faber ! ’ we exclaimed in one breath, and as 
we uttered the name the man stood before us. No 
longer the surgeon, the doctor from the redoubts be- 
fore Mayence : a distinguished man, a man of the 
world at the first glance ; but also at the first glance 
the old Mosjo Per-se. He shook my hand and kissed 
my wife’s with the air of one of the poor marquises, 
whose heads he has seen roll off by the dozen. 
Imagine it, my old barber’s son and assistant ! 

‘ I have come as a bride-groom, Herr Major,’ said 
he, showing me his father’s wedding ring on his fin- 
ger. ‘A little late, you will say, but the man has 
been true to his colors.’ * Oho ! ’ I replied, ‘ the child 
is all safe ! * 

“ ‘ Meantime my wife had recovered from her as- 
tonishment. ‘ First of all,’ she began, ‘ Herr Doctor, 
are you not ’ He smiled and answered bowing. 
‘To my oldest friends, Siegmund Faber, as before, 
Mosjo Perse if you choose. To others : Geheimerath 
Faber, practising physician in Berlin.’ 

“‘Then first of all, Herr Geheimerath,’ said Adel- 
heid, as she also bowed, ‘ accept the assurance that 
the demoiselle Muller has awaited your return under 
our eyes in perfect health and patient faithfulness.’ 

“ ‘ As a nun waits for the Heavenly Bridegroom,’ I 
interrupted. Adelheid hemmed, and you know, Pro- 
vost, when Adelheid hems she always means: * Mai 
apropos^ Eberhard!’ ‘Yet it might be well,’ she 
continued, ‘ to prepare the dear child for your unex- 
pected appearance.’ 

“ ‘ She turned to leave the room. But here the Herr 
Geheimerath proved himself the same old Pers6. 


244 LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

‘ After this gratifying assurance/ he said, ^ he would 
beg permission to accompany Frau von Reckenburg 
and ascertain, from the first impression, the decision 
of the darling wish of his heart.’ While saying these 
words, he lighted the candle which stood on the table, 
and thus, by leading the way, was the first to enter 
the chamber of his betrothed bride. 

^ Poor little Dorl was sitting alone as usual. She 
had been cutting children’s faces out of paper and 
was overcome by fatigue. Her arms were out- 
stretched on the table and her head had drooped upon 
them. As the door suddenly opened, she raised it, 
as if roused from a dream. ‘ I cannot describe to 
you, Eberhard,’ said Adelheid, for of course I had 
remained down stairs, ‘ I cannot describe to you the 
delight that sparkled in Faber’s eyes at this picture. 
The dainty furniture of his old room, the little one’s 
unchanged beauty, her childish occupation, and the 
gold ring on her finger, all this he had seen at a sin- 
gle glance. No words were needed, he knew all that 
he desired to know.’ 

“ ‘ But Dorothee now saw him, and shrieking like a 
child that has been stung by a bee, turned deadly 
pale and covered her face with both hands. 

‘ I have startled you, my dear Dorothee,’ said 
Faber as he hurried towards her, drew her little hands 
away from her eyes, and pressed a kiss upon the fin- 
ger that wore the ring. ‘ But this surprise is my 
compensation for long years of renunciation. My 
whole life shall be one expression of gratitude for the 
happiness it afforded me.’ 

“ ‘ But this second experiment — you know, Provost, 


THE WEDDING. 


245 


he called his betrothal an experiment — this surprise 
proved almost too great for our little Dorl. A shud- 
der ran through her limbs, a feverish flush drove the 
death like pallor from her face. ‘You are ill, Doro- 
thee,’ cried Faber anxiously,as he led her to the couch, 
sat down in a chair beside her and took her hand, 
not like a lover, Adelheid said, but like a physician 
who is counting the pulse. She shook her little 
head, roused herself, gradually regained her self pos- 
session, and when after a pause Faber asked if she 
felt strong enough to endure his presence, answered 
with a nod. 

“ ‘ The goal I set before me is attained,’ said Faber, 
‘later than I hoped, but it is securely and honorably 
won. A large practice awaits me in Berlin, ample 
means are at my — our disposal, dear Dorothee. 
True, my time is short. But what need have we to 
delay ? In a week, I think, we can get to our new 
home together — ’ 

“As Adelheid, who had hitherto remained un- 
noticed in the back ground, saw everything progress- 
ing so favorably, she thought it time to retire. At 
this movement the child perceived her. She started 
up, rushed towards my wife with a look, she declares, 
like that of a maniac, and the words, the first she 
had uttered : ‘ Hardine, Hardine ! When will Frau- 
lein Hardine come.?’ ‘We are expecting her the 
middle of next week, dear Dorothee,’ replied Adelheid 
soothingly, and left the betrothed couple alone. 

“On coming down stairs, she said to me: ‘The 
poor girl is completely bewildered, Eberhard. Even 
in a tete-d-tete, he won’t be able to coax anything 


246 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

more out of her than a shake of the head and a shiver. 
But what marvel is it ? The man has become a 
stranger during these eight years, nay, he was 
nothing but a stranger before. Now everything 
comes at once: the meeting, the marriage, the de- 
parture, an entirely new world, and all this without 
her faithful adviser, our daughter Hardine.’ 

“I am of the opinion that nothing helps a person 
out of an embarrassing situation more pleasantly than 
a merry supper among intimate friends, and Adelheid 
and I therefore instantly agreed to hastily get out 
the best the kitchen and cellar afforded for a welcom- 
ing feast. Scarcely an hour had elapsed, when I 
went up stairs to invite the guests to our extempore 
entertainment. I congratulated the betrothed bride, 
who did not yet seem to have recovered the use of 
her tongue, and again offered my best wishes to the 
radiant bridegroom. All four of us were soon seated 
comfortably around the table ; the first bottle of wine 
was uncorked, and never have I heard a more joyful 
toast than that given to our faithful lovers. 

“ But our guest was now obliged to speak and de- 
scribe as best he could the adventures and perils, 
amid which the prisoner of Pirmasenz had so fortu- 
nately reached the position of Geheimerath. The 
man knows how to tell a story ; his language was 
simple and clear, his manner modest, and yet not 
without a proper degree of ease. 

“ It gave one a curious thrill of admiration and 
horror, to see in imagination the lonely stranger 
moving about so calmly with his knives and pincers, 
to-day under the flash of the guillotine, to-morrow 


THE WEDDING. 


247 


amid the thunder of artillery ; past men who yesterday 
were gold and to-day dross, who yesterday were over- 
looked as dross and to-morrow will be idolized as gold. 

“What such a revolution means first became clear 
to me through the description of Mosjo- Perse. Adel- 
heid and I could have listened all night. 

“ But to be sure, an old couple who are really con- 
nected by no ties of blood, are very different from a 
timid young betrothed bride. Poor little Dorl sat 
pale and silent, with downcast eyes and hands resting 
in her lap, and neither touched a mouthful of food nor 
drank a drop of wine. It really seemed to me, as if 
she had not heard a word of all the stories of murder, 
but had been thinking of something entirely different. 
But Faber was grateful for this stupor of alarm at 
the retrospect of the dangers through which he had 
passed when far away from her. He pressed her 
hand, and skillfully turned the conversation to a topic 
which always revives the weakest woman. The 
subject of the fashions adopted by the ladies during 
the revolution was introduced ; the social gayeties, 
first of Paris then of Berlin ; names were mentioned 
as those of his patrons and friends, the sound of 
which might well make the heart of the ex-barmaid 
leap with delight ; and when at last their own home 
was mentioned as a second floor on the Unter den 
Linden, servants, carriage, and horses were spoken 
of as matters of course, my friend, you ought to have 
seen how the little betrothed melted. How the ears 
were pricked, how the eyes sparkled, how the flush 
deepened on the pale cheeks. Little Dorl already 
saw herself the P'rau Geheimerathin, probably even a 


248 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

gnadige Frau,” *with her hair dressed a la Titus and 
a Greek tunic, nestling among silken cushions in a 
room adorned with clocks and vases, while generals 
and counts waited in the anteroom for an interview 
with her famous husband. Now she ventured to 
raise her eyes to his, nodded, smiled, and allowed her 
hitherto reluctant hand to remain in his clasp. Yes, 
women, women, they are all true daughters of Eve 1 

“‘The fire is blazing on the hearth to welcome 
the mistress of the house,’ said the clever man in 
conclusion — ‘and God willing, the mistress will be 
absent only a few days longer. We are both orphans, 
you are also of age, my Dorothee ; the necessary 
witnesses can be procured here. The bans must be 
published for the first time day after to-morrow, and 
I do not doubt we shall be exempted from all other 
observances, if I apply to the consistory at Leipsic, 
where I intend to seek out several old friends and 
patrons to-morrow. At any rate everything can be 
despatched by a week from next Sunday, and then, 
too, the witness of our betrothal, Fraulein Hardine, 
will be present, and I should be delighted to have 
her as a guest at our quiet wedding.’ 

“ Adelheid is right, it is strange how fondly little 
Dorl loves our Dine. Anyone but Mosjb Pers6 
would object to such friendship! But ; women’s 
affairs — pshaw I But if it were a man who en- 
croached on his preserves. Heaven help him! 

“ The child had listened to his plan with perfect 
composure ; but at the name of Hardine she started 


Gnadige is used onlj in addressing the nobility. 


THE WEDDING. 


249 


up, trembling from head to foot and as white as the 
wall. ‘ Hardine ! ’ she murmured. ‘ When will 
Fraulein Hardine come ? ’ ‘ She shall not be absent 

from your wedding, darling,’ I said soothingly, ‘ I will 
write to her to-morrow, and she will reach here in a 
week at latest.’ 

“ Dorothee sat leaning back in her chair and did 
not stir. The betrothed bridegroom emptied the 
last glass to our dear daughter’s health. The bride 
was also obliged to touch glasses and sip, but she 
did so with a shudder, as if death had walked over 
her grave. We all saw how much the dear child 
needed rest. My wife rose from the table, and the 
guest took his leave to seek quarters for the night at 
the inn. Our festival was over. 

^‘‘Pray do not write to Fraulein Hardine, dear 
Herr Major,’ said kind little Dorl, as I accompanied 
her up stairs. * It might be inconvenient for her. 
She will certainly come without it. Or we will wait 
till she does arrive.’ 

“ Well, I did not write, as a letter came the follow- 
ing morning, fixing her arrival for the next Thursday. 
And now she has not come yet, and after all will not 
get home in time.” 

‘‘ As your father uttered the last words, he rose to 
return to the city. I accompanied him, and begged 
him to continue his story. 

“ ' What more shall I say ? ' he asked. ^ Everything 
has come to pass as our doctor arranged. On Sun- 
day their bans were published from the pulpit for the 
first time. To-morrow it will be done for the second 
and third at once. In the afternoon, or early Mon- 


250 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

day morning at latest, a quiet wedding will take place 
in the country, witnessed only by Adelheid, myself, 
and of course our daughter, if she arrives. If she 
would only come ! The child is literally wasting 
away under the influence of this fixed idea. At every 
carriage that rolls along the street, she rushes to the 
window and looks out. ‘‘Hardine, Fraulein Har- 
dine ! ” are almost the only words that escape her 
lips. Day before yesterday, when we positively ex- 
pected her, I was really angry with the little goose. 
During this one week she has grown as thin as a 
skeleton ; the betrothal ring, that fitted her finger so 
tightly, rolls into her lap at the slightest movement 
of her hand. She does not even think of her wedding 
finery. ^ Nothing will come of it,’ she murmured, 
when Adelheid spoke to her about the matter a short 
time ago. I suppose these whims women take are 
called hysteria. Thank God, our Dine has no 
symptoms of them.” 

“ And does the future bridegroom show no anxiety 
about this certainly singular state of mind,” I ven- 
tured to ask; a doubt which the chivalrous major 
repelled almost as an insult. ‘ What do you mean by 
that, Provost ? ’ he indignantly exclaimed. ‘ Has not 
the man my own testimony and Adelheid’s for the 
girl’s faultless conduct .? Would our daughter, under 
any other circumstances, be her friend ? Does not 
the whole' city praise her actually timid reserve, since 
that horrible Thursday evening, for whose extrava- 
gances the child was really less to blame than the rest 
of us ? That she has hitherto felt no overmastering 
love for her future husband, he is himself perfectly 


THE WEDDING. 


251 


well aware, for our Mosjo Per-s6 is no Apollo ! But 
let her once be married and in her own home, and 
Faber feels himself man enough to win a woman's 
heart. With his usual cleverness, he compassionates 
her nervous anxiety during the short interval before 
the wedding, appears only in hurried visits, is atten- 
tive without being tender, and is illuminated by the 
halo that surrounds a distinguished man. Everyone 
presses forward to see the famous fellow-citizen. The 
news of his return has spread through the neighbor- 
hood like wildfire. People come from miles around to 
have diseases of old and new standing cured by the 
wonderful doctor. Several very difficult operations 
have been performed. But he is now obliged to greet 
and bid farewell to all his old acquaintances down to 
the flayer, whom he calls his first professor. In short, 
a whirlwind has risen around the man, and he con- 
ducts himself with the utmost tact and propriety. 
These qualities are particularly shown in his behavior 
towards us. His^ father's old house, his * citadel of 
faith,’ as he calls it, will remain at our disposal, the 
rent is to be given to Hardine to distribute among 
the poor. Not a piece of furniture will be removed 
from Dorothee’s room, nor any luggage taken with 
them on the journey. In their wedding garments, as 
untrammelled as the summer birds, they will fly to 
the nest that has been prepared, where all sorts of 
new articles never seen before will surround and 
delight the young wife.' 

“ During this last conversation we had reached the 
city and your home, P'raulein Hardine. Your mother 
was sitting at her spinning-wheel before the door. 


2^2 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

‘ The post-chaise from Leipsic has arrived, and once 
more without our daughter, Eberhard,’ said she. ‘ The 
countess has had an attack of illness,’ replied her 
husband, the provost has heard from Reckenburg. 
But what does Dorl say, Adelheid ? ’ ^ Why, since 

the last hope has almost disappeared, she seems to 
try to dismiss her childish longing from her mind. 
Look around you, Eberhard, there is a face at every 
door and window. Dorothee has just turned the cor- 
ner, leaning on her betrothed husband’s arm ; it is the 
first time she has left the house since his return 
home. They want to bid farewell to their parents’ 
graves. This Faber has a noble, refined nature ; you 
ought to make his acquaintance, Herr Provost. I 
should have liked to have my daughter see him again 
too. But I cannot try to defer the wedding longer 
than to-morrow. Dorothee will be calmer without a 
a farewell, and if Hardine arrived to-morrow evening, 
what would she care for the mere role of brides- 
maid 

The provost paused ; he seemed to have finished 
his story. “And did you not wait for Dorothee’s 
return and decision } ” I hastily asked. 

“No,” he answered quietly. “I requested your 
mother to inform her of my return from my journey, 
and went back to the institution. When, as I almost 
expected, no message reached me after the morning 
service, I set off for Leipsic to receive my charge.” 

At this moment the post-chaise drove up. I had 
not laid aside my traveling dress, and had already 
ordered the baggage to be carried down stairs again. 
Wfien I now attempted to rouse the boy and hurry 


THE WEDDING. 


253 


on with him, my companion stopped me. I think 
it will be better,” said he, “for me to spend the night 
here with the little one, and to-morrow — ” 

“ The child will sleep just as well in the carriage as 
here in bed,” I angrily interrupted. “ Let us go on 
as fast as possible.” He hesitated a moment, then 
followed me with the sleeping boy in his arms. 

My friend’s circumstantial explanation had only in- 
creased my excitement. It was intentional on his 
part ; the agitation needed to subside de/ore the actual 
impressions were received. For the first, and thank 
God the only time in my life, I felt in a condition of 
— out with it — a condition of fury; fury directed 
first of all against myself. I could have torn my hair 
out by the roots, or broken the windows of the car- 
riage, I could have shrieked, or like a wild horse 
bitten my own veins to open a valve for the seething 
blood I — I was to blame for this event ; I had 
covered the sin, concealed the breach of faith ; I had 
deceived my unsuspicious parents, trusting to whose 
good faith an honorable man had been most shame- 
fully betrayed. I — I had destroyed the proud confi- 
dence of my own soul. 

In such a mood there is no greater relief than to 
cast a portion of our burden upon others, and there- 
fore as soon as the post-chaise had entered the 
smoother highway, I turned upon my companion, 
whose mild composure enraged me. 

“ If we come too late, Provost,” I exclaimed, “ if 
the wedding is over, you will have taken a heavy re- 
sponsibility upon yourself. You might have pre- 
vented the crime, and for the sake of ease neglected 
to make the accusation.” 


254 


THE LAST VON RECKENBQRG. 


Ought the confessional to be turned into a seat 
of judgment, Fraulein Hardine ? ” he replied, “ and 
was I not in the situation of the confessor, who has 
to guard a secret intrusted to his care ? ” 

“You did not have the secret from a penitent, at 
least not at first. Besides, in taking this view of the 
matter, you condemn yourself. Delicacy of feeling 
might bind the tongue of the man, the friend ; it was 
the priest’s duty to keep his penitent from committing 
a crime.” 

“ And what was I to do, Fraulein Hardine } ” 

“ Advise, warn, threaten ; awaken the dull con- 
science to the first Christian and human virtue, 
truth.” 

“And have not you, my brave young friend, ad- 
vised, warned, awakened her conscience to the truth, 
you who have always had the strongest influence 
over this child, and at a time when she felt more 
than indifferent towards this man, to whom she owed 
the truth ? And what was the result ? But to-day, 
at the last hour, on the eve of the wedding, when all 
the feelings and efforts of the variable heart are 
directed solely against the danger of opposition — ” 

“ In an extreme case you ought not to have avoided 
the most extreme measures.” 

After a short pause, my friend gently took my hand 
and said : “ My dear child, do not ask an old man to 
perform an act which is beyond his powers, and for 
which, should it fail, he has no remedy to offer him- 
self or others. And suppose matters had proceeded 
to extremities. If the weak creature — for she is 
very weak, Fraulein Hardine — disgraced before the 


THE WEDDING. 


255 


world and before the man who is now the object of 
all her desires, should be seized by some fatal illness, 
or go mad ? If she should lay desperate hands upon 
herself — ” 

“Well,” I passionately exclaimed, “/, if there is 
still time, will defy these dangers and let the truth 
be heard, if they are standing before the altar. I 
stepped beyond the limits of my powers, my educa- 
tion, the motto of my ancestors, my own character, 
when I endured dishonor and palliated wrong. In 
right and honor, at any cost, I shall know how to 
atone for this error.” 

“You will do so, my friend,” replied the reverend 
gentleman with marked emphasis. “You will atone 
for that error, sooner or later, though with other 
factors than those which now occupy your mind. To 
err in this manner is to live, and our development is 
rooted in the secret instincts that mock human logic. 
The showers of rain, which beat down our crops, filter 
through the hard surface of the earth and collect in 
a spring, which fertilizes the land. This is the logic 
of nature. And therefore let me believe that that, 
which now oppresses your conscience, will at some 
future time refresh your soul like a fountain. I am 
an old man. My task is, so far as lies in my power, 
to supply a father’s place to this child, who has per- 
haps lost his mother also.” 

The old man was silent. But if you suppose that 
his simile of the spring of water, in my state of ex- 
citement, extinguished my anger, you are mistaken. 
It was pouring oil on the flames. I turned my back 
on the sentimental weakling who, without moving. 


256 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

saw his neighbor’s house burn down and then kindly 
collected the stones to build a hut to shelter him in 
future. 

We did not exchange another word till we reached 
the next station. The old man sat opposite to me 
in silence, with the head of the sleeping child resting 
in his lap. A confusion of thoughts whirled through 
my brain. W/iat would happen, if I came in time, 
what would become of me, if I arrived too late — I 
did not know. 

I was roused from this tumult of feeling by a move- 
ment on the part of my companion, who during the 
change of horses was preparing to get out of the post 
chaise, to take the side road to the institution with 
the sleeping boy. I noticed the intention and said 
scornfully, “You swallow camels and strain at gnats, 
dear friend!” Upon which he answered smiling: 
“I shall be glad if I can avert the poisonous sting of 
a gnat from you, Fraulein Hardine !” 

This provocation was all that was lacking. “ I 
think, Herr Provost,” I burst forth, “that the name 
and reputation of Fraulein von Reckenburg — ” 

“The best name and reputation,” he interrupted, 
“ the peace of the noblest human beings may be de- 
stroyed, if a chain of casualties plays into the hands 
of foolish or malicious persons. If Dorothee Muller’s 
marriage forces her to disown this boy, he will have 
neither father nor mother. He has grown up in Reck- 
enburg, under the eyes of your trusted servant, and 
been placed by you in the charge of an old friend. It 
will your person to which his memories, perhaps 
his expectations will cling, especially if some day a 


THE WEDDING. 


257 


change in your circumstances should fix the eyes of 
a larger circle upon you. Your only witnesses, Jus- 
tine and myself, are old ; the church registers are 
destroyed and the complications of chance incalcul- 
able. I must therefore consider it a dispensation of 
Providence, that at least one irrefutable document in 
regard to Augustus Muller’s descent has been pre- 
served. Shortly before my departure from Recken- 
burg and the burning of the church, I took a copy of 
the baptismal certificate in order, at the first oppor- 
tunity, to place it in the mother’s hands without 
attracting the attention of any third person. I 
thoughtlessly delayed carrying out my original inten- 
tion, and now confide it to you, instead of the mother, 
Fraulein Hardin e. Do not reject it, keep it out of 
regard for a faithful friend, much as he may have 
sunk in your estimation to-day.” 

To cut short any further discussions, I took the 
document, and in a cooler mood saw the duty of pre- 
serving it, if not for myself, for the orphaned boy, 
and I have already mentioned that you will find it 
fastened to this manuscript. 

After this concession, however, the reverend gen- 
tleman was obliged to permit me to accompany him 
to the institution. The cloister clock was just strik- 
ing midnight, when I saw him disappear through the 
doorway with the child in his arms. 

Half an hour later the post horn sounded before 
the barber’s house. The dwelling and the whole city 
were shrouded in slumbers ; everybody was asleep, 
and it seemed an eternity before the door opened 
and my father appeared in his dressing gown and 


258 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

night-cap. '' Dorothee ! ” I shrieked, clinging to his 
shoulders with both hands. 

*‘You come pos^ festuniy my poor Dine,” replied 
my father, attempting a pun, “the Frau Geheimerath 
left her kindest remembrances for you ! ” 

And now do not ask me how I reached my mother’s 
bed and exchanged the first words. Do not ask how 
long I sat opposite to her and in partial bewilderment 
saw the concluding scene of our household drama 
pass before me like a dissolving view. Not until 
after the account had been frequently repeated dur- 
ing the ensuing days, was it impressed upon my 
mind with the sharpness of a personal experience. 

The betrothed lovers had returned from their eve- 
ning walk with the determination to have the wedding 
take place the following noon, in the manner already 
agreed. My father and mother made no opposition. 
Dorothee received the message from her old friend 
at the cloister with a flood of tears, which seemed to 
relieve her mind. 

When on Sunday morning the service was drawing 
to a close, my mother went up to Dorothee’s room to 
give her her little wedding present. It was a silhou- 
ette of her daughter, with a lock of her hair, which 
she had had enclosed in a locket set with pearls. 

She found the bride already attired in her commu- 
nion dress, the neck and sleeves trimmed with white 
lace, a gift from Faber. The dark picture fastened 
with a black ribbon, which was her only ornament, 
made the costume appear still more like mourning. 
But in this gloomy frame, with the flowerlike white- 
ness of the face, the downcast eyes, the hands folded on 


THE WEDDING. 


259 


the breast as if in humble pleading, and the morning 
sunlight gilding the luxuriant wealth of curls, my 
mother confessed that she had never suspected this 
ideal beauty under the child’s pink cheeks, and lingered 
a moment on the threshold, spell bound by the sight. 

But it was only for a moment. The next instant 
a thrill of horror ran through her limbs and a “ merci- 
ful Heaven !” escaped her lips. A bride, Siegmund 
Faber’s bride, her charge — and without the maiden’s 
wreath ! No one had provided the indispensable 
symbol, which up to the last moment all had expected 
the bridesmaid to bestow. And now how was it to 
be procured in this haste, and with the shops closed 
for Sunday ? 

Dorothee had heard the exclamation and saw my 
mother’s anxiety. At the same moment she distin- 
guished the sound of a carriage, which came nearer 
and nearer. It stopped before the door. ‘‘Hardine!” 
she shrieked, mercy, Hardine ! ”" and sank on her 
knees. 

But it was not the longed for bridesmaid, but the 
coaches for the wedding party, that drove up to the 
house. The bridegroom and my father entered just 
as the trembling bride rose from the floor. 

Only the wreath, the wreath ! All looked con- 
founded — all, with the exception of the rigid bride. 
The happy bridegroom was the first to collect his 
thoughts. ^Ht need not be myrtle,” said he. “In 
Southern countries white flowers are chosen from 
preference, mingled with any other delicate green.” 
He looked around the room, which the day before 
had resembled a garden, but all the pots had been 


26 o the last von reckenburg. 

carried to the cemetery early that morning to adorn 
the graves of the lovers’ parents. In a glass of water, 
however, he saw a few green sprigs, which he thought- 
lessly grasped and handed to Dorothee. My mother 
with difficulty repressed a shudder ; then, smiling 
sadly, wound them in Ddrl’s golden hair : the sprays 
were a bunch of rosemary, plucked yesterday by the 
daughter’s hand as a memento from those very 
graves. 

But at the same moment my kind father, who in 
his zeal had rushed down to the garden, triumphantly 
brought in a handful of white amaranths, on which the 
morning dew was still glittering. They were twisted 
among the rosemary, and thus with spring flowers 
and green sprays from a grave-yard the bridal wreath 
was finished. Siegmund Faber wrapped a costly 
Turkish shawl around Dorothee’s shoulders and led 
her to the carriage. My parents followed. Amid 
the greetings of ‘her fellow citizens, who were just 
streaming out of the church, the beautiful child of 
the city drove from her dark home into the dazzling 
splendor of the world. 

At the end of an hour the carriage stopped before 
a church in the first village on the road to Berlin. 
The inhabitants were at dinner, no one except the 
pastor and sexton was waiting in the little deserted 
house of God. Faber, out of consideration for his 
bride, had requested that the ceremony should be 
short, so it was limited almost entirely to the old 
Lutheran formula and the benediction. Without any 
singing or music from the organ, the betrothed lovers 
were speedily made man and wife. When the rings 


THE WEDDING. 


261 

they had worn eight years were again exchanged, the 
bride’s slipped from her hand. Faber caught it and 
placed it on her finger, which he henceforth held 
firmly clasped in his. His assent rang through the 
church in a clear, joyous tone. Dorothee’s lips did 
not move. 

Siegmund Faber silently led his young wife to the 
churchyard gate, motioned for the carriage to drive 
up and hurried back to the vestry to attend to the 
business arrangements. My parents took leave of 
the child, whom from her very cradle they had 
cherished with their own. 

“ May God’s blessing be upon you, dear Dorothee, 
in the name of our dear Hardine also,” said my 
father, after embracing his favorite, and then walked 
quickly towards the young husband to conceal his 
tears. 

It seemed as if at the name of Hardine a fit of 
insanity suddenly seized the young wife. Shuddering 
convulsively, she threw herself on the ground and 
clung to my mother’s knees. 

Mercy, Hardine!” she shrieked, ^^mercy! I did 
not wish to do it, but was conipelled\ I wanted to 
speak, but I cotdd not. The child, the poor orphaned 
child 1 Mercy, Hardine, mercy for the sake of the 
dead I ” 

The last words were faltered in almost inaudible 
tones. Her eyes grew dim and she staggered back- 
wards over a freshly made grave. Faber rushed 
forward and lifted his unconscious wife into the 
carriage. A moment after they were rolling along 
the highway towards their new home. 


262 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


CHAPTER X. 

“ 1806.” 

T HE secret is revealed. Y ou now know, my friends, 
who Augustus Muller’s mother was and what sealed 
my lips, when the world gave that name to me. 
What outside events afterwards happened to me and 
through me are perfectly clear, so the story might 
come to an end. 

But since every story should have a point, that is, 
since every fate comes to a point, not according to 
outside events but the spirit within, and since when 
the first beginning is made, it affords us peculiar 
pleasure to disclose to those we love the ground plan 
of the edifice of our lives, I will continue mine from 
story to story, to the summit, which will at last be 
revealed. 

The weakness with which for years I had tolerated 
and kept Dorothee’s secret, had not disturbed my 
conscience. But now, when an inextinguishable 
crime towards another had sprung from it, it weighed 
upon me like a mountain. There was now one man, 
whose honorable name I could not hear without 
turning pale ; one man, at the thought of whom I 
cast down my eyes ; whom I must either deceive or 
utterly crush, if he ever stood before me with the 
question ; “ Did you act honestly and honorably 


8o6. 


263 




towards him who trusted you ? ” I now learned to 
know the demons of life — anxiety, doubt, fear, and 
shame — which I had dreaded more than poverty 
and abandonment. The pride of innocence was 
destroyed, all independence of feeling crushed, since 
by yielding to Dorothee I had been led so far away 
from the original principles of my character. 

Of Dorothee I heard nothing. I had not expected 
her to write to me, and should not have answered 
her. I did not know whether she maintained any 
communication with the provost, but doubted it. We 
had done with each other. 

The tie that bound me to the provost had also 
weakened, since his laxness, as I termed it, had 
burdened my conscience with a heavy load. I went 
to see him whenever I visited my parents, maintained 
a sort of connection between him and his old parish, 
and watched his labors in his present sphere with 
interest ; but we never exchanged a word about our 
mutual secret. Yet no matter how often I visited 
him, he never omitted to bring forward his special 
prot^g^ and attempt to arouse my former interest in 
him, for — and this was probably the worst change in 
my mood — the boy, for whom I had felt so much 
affection, and who was now developing into a strong, 
handsome lad, had inspired me with a feeling of 
horror ever since the night I had seen him disappear 
in the cloister. I no longer beheld in him the living 
image of his father, who had been the joy and sorrow 
of my short spring ; no longer the offspring of his 
mother, the sole companion of my childhood ; he 
reminded me only of the man who, through my 


264 the last von reckenburg. 

participation in guilt, had been robbed of the happi- 
ness of ever pressing to his heart the pledge of a 
ptiveXowQ. Unjust as I was — even towards myself 
-—I was angry with the boy for his impetuous 
nature, which was so difficult to curb ; he became to 
me Nurse Justine’s “wild stock,” the lost child of 
sin, and my old friend vainly tried to explain and 
apologize. “ He never tells a lie and is braver than 
any of the others,” said the old man, but I replied: — 
“ He is a worse boy than any of the others,” and 
when twenty years after Augustus Muller said that 
Fraulein Hardine’s image had been impressed upon 
his mind by a severe blow, I probably do not re- 
member the fact simply because my fingers had 
twitched, not once, but a hundred times to give the 
correction. 

Everything disgusted, everything embittered me, 
especially my stay in my parents’ house. For the 
house was the scene of the treachery which had cost 
me my self-respect, and I could not endure the 
honest eyes of my parents, who had become accom- 
plices in it solely through my fault. The household 
life, in whose duties I had no share, wearied me, and 
the free country occupations of Reckenburg had 
completely estranged me from the insipid society of 
the little city ; for nature, even in her simplest aspect, 
speaks an ever new and intellectual language to one 
who has assumed the position, not of a mere looker on, 
but a worker in her domain. 

My visits home, therefore, grew shorter year by 
year, and at last were limited to a few days. I be- 
came more and more indispensable at Reckenburg, 


1806. 


265 


though my situation continually grew more unpleas- 
ant and constrained. Everything was stagnant, every- 
thing threatened to go to ruin under the old woman’s 
mad thirst for gold. The old servants and employees 
refused to work for her ; I was obliged to fight for 
every thaler I kept back from the greedy hands, nay, 
was compelled to take refuge in deception, in open 
fraud ; to secretly sell corn, in order to pay the labor- 
ers, that the fields might not lie fallow ; to secretly 
order wood to be felled, to pay the foresters, that the 
increased numbers of game might not destroy the 
crops. 

When I saw this diabolical self-destruction, this 
degeneration of the most admirable natural qualities, 
or the constantly increasing dissoluteness of the par- 
ish, which, since the fire, did not even have a roof 
over the house of God ; when I heard the people talk- 
ing about the Beelzebub to whom the ghost in the 
gold tower had sold her soul, sayings before whose 
logic contradiction died away like the empty wind, I 
often asked myself with scornful indignation why a 
place was not reserved for misers in every mad-house ? 
Still more often I struggled against the temptation 
of placing my relative under legal guardianship. 

But I battled it down. The woman, who had led 
such a vigorous life only to pine away so miserably, 
was already in her tenth decade, and she should not 
be inscribed on the records of her country as a simple- 
ton through the testimony of the last who bore her 
name. I was still strong enough to stand my ground 
against the destruction, until in the course of nature 
the stewardess became mistress of her ancestors’ 
estates, or was compelled to leave them forever. 


^66 


The last Von reckEnburo. 


Year after year glided away in this condition of 
external and internal lassitude, which resembled a 
paralysing, oppressive chronic disease, in which the 
physician awaits the crisis that is to release his 
patient, either by death or rejuvenated life. 

And the lonely girl in secluded Reckenburg felt 
this secret, lurking distress in the whole state of 
affairs in her native country, even more than in her- 
self. With the sharpened powers of an unoccupied 
mind, she looked beyond the void in her own life and 
beheld the tottering steps from weakness to guilt, 
saw the strength of her nation overstrained, here fail- 
ing, there approaching a catastrophe which must 
destroy or rouse it to fresh energy. 

I know what you will say, my friends, or at least 
what you might say : there may have been a lurking 
disease in the German nation, though you have per- 
haps described the results of later experience, or the 
contrast between the rude population of Reckenburg 
and the refined friends of literature in the cloister as 
signs of the times, to the advantage of your penetra- 
tion. Be it so. But as to the pathos of your per- 
sonal sorrow, Fraulein Hardine, it was probably 
nothing more than the uncomfortable state of mind 
of every girl who is gradually passing from the twen- 
ties into the thirties. Why did you not marry ? You 
were not beautiful and bewitching ; but you were 
clever and sensible, and what is more, the prospective 
heiress of the '‘green robe” of your Reckenburg 
fields. Such a robe is comfortable, even without the 
girdle of Venus. Did you lack suitors, or did you 
play the Amazon ? 


1806. 


267 


Neither, my young friends. Fraulein Eberhardine 
was practical enough to think a sensible, suitable 
marriage, even without affection, a better corrective 
of her malady than the inheritance of Reckenburg 
itself. But as regards her host of suitors, oh ! she 
might have filled her father’s squadron with her cava- 
liers. Old and young, acquaintances and strangers, 
they came from far and near, attracted by the charms 
and virtues of the last von Reckenburg. But as soon 
as the latter, from due regard for the truth, repre- 
sented these charms and virtues as her only certain 
inheritance, she saw this condition of torpor suddenly 
spread over the rapidly advancing army of knights. 
They manfully smothered their passion to a rythmic 
te^npo like that of the minuet in Eberhardine von 
Reckenburg’ s dancing lessons. Cavaliers a droite, a 
gauche^ en arrilre ! not a whole step, scarcely a half 
one, and always with low bows and graceful portebras^ 
but as long-winded as the life in the gold tower of 
Reckenburg. 

But when — to close the matrimonial chapter at 
once — when that long-winded life finally breathed its 
last, and the charms and virtues of the last von Reck- 
enburg glittered in the green robe of her home, she 
knew something better to do than to conceal the in- 
digence of some waiting knight under its folds. Eii 
anihe^ cavaliers ! it was now her turn to say ; e7t 
arrilre an galop. 

And her heart had not throbbed while thus driving 
suiters away ; for to her good or evil fortune she had 
early learned to judge by large standards, and no at- 
tractive Antinoiis, no character like Mosjb Per-se was 
numbered among her later wooers. 


268 


THE LAST VON EECKENBURG, 


The events of the autumn of 1806 drove me hur- 
riedly to my parents’ house, with the expectation of 
making a much longer stay than usual. The Elector, 
at the last moment, had decided in favor of war, and 
my old father was compelled to take the field under 
the Prussian flag a second time. 

My mother, whose health had never recovered from 
the anxiety of those years of separation, utterly broke 
down at this second parting. Now she foresaw the 
fatal blow, which she had then only feared^ and when 
honest Purzel repeated his former words of consola- 
tion, Nothing will happen to him, and if anything 
does, I will come and tell you at once,” she did not 
try to smile, and her fixed eyes said : “ I know you 
will come.” 

I did not share this apprehension. Napoleon’s 
campaigns did not last so long as those on the Rhine ; 
the present one was expected to take place in our 
immediate vicinity, and why should we doubt the 
goodness of God, when we had once experienced it 
with so much gratitude } I hoped to see my dear 
father again very soon. 

But my gloomy forebodings in regard to the result 
of the campaign were all the more unconquerable. 
As solitary shepherds or huntsmen learn to under- 
stand the course of the clouds and stars, I, as I have 
already mentioned, in my mental isolation had become 
accustomed to fix my eyes intently upon the horizon 
of our times, and I saw threatening clouds rising 
above it. I now came home. Our little city resem- 
bled a Prussian camp. The larger portion of the 
army, fragments of which I had seen during the 


1806.” 


269 


movements of the troops the previous year, marched 
through our streets on their way to the distant head- 
quarters. With natural keenness of perception for 
everything practical, and, as a soldier’s daughter, 
familiar with many military necessities, I could not 
fail to feel doubts, which were only too well justified 
by the result. 

But there was a memory, which, even more than 
these intuitions, intruded amid the constant changes, 
foreboding misfortune. I saw and heard the cavalier 
whims among the representatives of Frederic’s 
school of heroes, the only mood which was openly 
displayed and frequently offended the less hot- 
blooded Saxon allies; — well, one might smile at 
them. During short interviews I exchanged a word 
with the heroic prince, who so vividly reminded me 
of him who perished at Valmy. I bent in homage 
before the queen and read proud, victorious confi- 
dence in the eyes of the fairest of women — ah ! her 
words and looks might well have inspired courage. 

But I again saw at the head of the army the irreso- 
lute general of ’92, under whom Frederic’s victorious 
banner began to droop ; now an old man, surrounded 
by grey-beards, and on the enemy’s side not a horde 
of sans-culottesy but an army intoxicated with vic- 
tory, under an E 7 nperor — Napoleon. And to that 
authority of memory I again saw a King of Prussia 
voluntarily submit ; a reserved, timid man, in whose 
grave eyes might be read a foreboding of the catas- 
trophe, a premonition of all the sorrows of the time, 
which he learned to understand too late. 

The army had moved westward, toward the river, 


2/0 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

nearly two weeks before. No garrison remained in 
the city ; an anxious stillness followed the noisy 
bustle ; the stillness that precedes the storm. Hour 
after hour the news of a collision was expected ; but 
no one guessed where the dreaded conqueror of Aus- 
terlitz, who, according to the last intelligence, re- 
ceived the first of October, had reached Warzburg, 
would seek or find this meeting. Even the army did 
not know, as my father s first letter informed us. 

The last news about him was brought by the pro- 
vost, whose son had hospitably welcomed his father’s 
friend to his Thuringian parsonage and found him 
well and in good spirits. The main body of the 
Saxon troops was with the eastern wing of the army ; 
one regiment of cavalry, with the vanguard, com- 
manded by Prince Louis Ferdinand, was stationed on 
the Upper Saale. Every one was still ignorant 
whether the corps would advance up the right bank 
of the river, toward the enemy, or fall back nearer to 
the main army at Erfurt. This letter, dated the 8th 
of October, did not reach us until the afternoon of 
the eleventh. My mother listened to the encourag- 
ing contents without faith, and almost without inter- 
est. She sat brooding silently. A sudden forebod- 
ing darted through my mind, that, even without any 
crushing blow, she would not survive this time of 
trial. 

The following morning alarming rumors ran 
through the city, rumors which, at such times, seem 
to whiz through the air ; no one seeks or knows cheir 
origin. I read them in the faces of the people who 
hurried past, caught them in their half-uttered words, 


1806. 


271 


when I ventured to leave my mother a moment and 
go out into the street. Travellers were said to have 
met French troops the day before moving upward 
along the right bank of the Saale; it was rumored 
that the allies were surrounded, that the enemy was 
established in the Elector’s dominions ; people no lon- 
ger thought themselves safe for an hour, talked of re- 
moving their, property to the mountains, of securing 
an ample stock of provisions, of flight. 

The excitement increased when, towards noon, 
there were rumors that several skirmishes had taken 
place between the out-posts, in which the allies were 
defeated and the cavalry badly cut up ; it reached its 
climax, when a few hours later — how ? — by whom 
ah ! heaven knows ! the most terrible news ran from 
lip to lip. A battle — so it was said — had been 
fought, the enemy had forced a passage to the left 
bank of the river in the face of the Prussian prince, 
and consequently our own regiment of cavalry. The 
losses were said to be immense, and even the prince’s 
name was mentioned among the number of killed. 

In this state of watching and listening the day 
drew toward a close. The Frankfort stage arrived, 
two couriers dashed after it along the road to Halle 
and Leipsic, the crowd in front of the post house 
grew dense, their gestures more anxious ; it seemed 
to me as if all eyes were turned toward our house. 
I could endure the suspense no longer. 

My mother sat motionless in her arm-chair at the 
window, gazing fixedly at the crowd, but asked no 
questions. I left her in charge of the maid-servant. 
It was already growing dark. I ran across to the 


2/2 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

post-house ; it was scarcely a hundred paces away, I 
could return in a few minutes. 

And in a few minutes I did return, bearing in my 
heart the news which I knew would sound like a 
death-sentence to the only object of my love now left 
me on earth. My dear father was dead. He had 
fallen at the head of his regiment, during the last 
unfortunate cavalry attack, which also proved fatal to 
the illustrious commander. What a feeling of horror 
overpowered me as I crossed the threshold which, 
so long as I could remember, had always been the 
abode of domestic happiness. Only a few minutes 
had elapsed, and I found it transformed into a cham- 
ber of death. 

In her chair at the window, where I had left her, 
lay the wretched wife, with limbs relaxed and filmy 
eyes, like those of a corpse. At her feet knelt the 
maid-servant, wringing her hands, and before her, 
still gasping for breath, sobbing aloud, covered with 
dust and blood, his arm in a sling, stood the messen- 
ger of woe, who had anticipated me. 

Honest Purzel had kept his word. When the ene- 
my’s ranks grew denser and denser, while friends be- 
gan to waver, and after a last, brave assault, the 
squadrons of his own regiment scattered ; when he 
saw the prince, their commander, turn his horse, and 
at the same moment his master fall to the ground, 
his only thought was to save him, and when he found 
him dead, perfectly lifeless, conceal him under a 
bush, and then, poor wight, set off at full speed till 
his horse dropped with fatigue, and he ran, gasping 
for breath, almost day and night, until he had reached 


isoer 


273 


‘‘ his house ” and the wife to whom he had promised 
to report at once, the first fugitive who brought the 
news of the terrible prelude of Saalfeld. 

The murderous words had not crossed his lips ; a 
single glance at the entering figure had broken the 
sick, foreboding heart. The remedies used in apo- 
plectic paralysis were instantly applied ; they pro- 
longed the bodily life for an incalculable time, during 
which the soul remained dead. The unhappy wife 
never uttered another word, and, I trust, heard none 
of our lamentations. 

This terrible grief held the equally great sorrow 
in check. All through the long night I sat mechan- 
ically counting the feeble throbs of the pulse, which 
might stop at any moment. At dawn sympathizing 
friends and curious acquaintances crowded around 
me ; I scarcely saw or heard them. I sat rigid and 
silent. 

I was roused from this stupefied condition by an 
act of friendship, which touched my heart as no 
other had ever done before or since. This day 
taught me what it is to reap faithfulness where your 
parents have sowed love. And yet I have reverenced 
them twenty years, without scattering even one ker- 
nel of the same seed. True, I knew of no heir to 
whom it would have borne fruit. 

It was about noon, when I heard a carriage stop 
before our door ; heard, without heeding it. A sign 
from the old soldier summoned me from my mother’s 
bed-side ; he was trembling and weeping like a child, 
and /le to whom he led me, also trembled and wept. 

“Fraulein Hardine/’ stammered Christlieb Taube; 


274 the last von reckenburg. 

I bring you all that could be saved of the best man 
who ever lived.” 

His body. He had discovered it under the shelter- 
ing bush, when with his pastor, the provost’s son, he 
searched the neighboring battle field for wounded 
men, laid it on a layer of the last oak leaves of the 
year, in a coffin hastily constructed of rough boards, 
had a benediction pronounced over it in the church, 
and then, alone in a light basket wagon, drove night 
and day, almost without rest, to bring it as a last con- 
solation to those he called his benefactors. 

And there he lay, the man with the brave heart, 
unchanged, as I had so often seen him sleeping in life ; 
the kind, strong face marred by no expression of 
pain. He still held his sword firmly grasped in his 
clenched hand, and only a small singed hole marked 
the spot where the bullet had pierced his heart. So 
he died a quick, gallant death, in the consciousness 
of a just cause, before the days of ignominy which 
were to rest upon his country for years, and in whose 
final expiation he would scarcely at his age have been 
permitted to take part. My poor father, God knew 
best, even for you ! 

Never in my life have I wept so bitterly, realized 
the benefit of tears so thoroughly, as at the sight of 
this dead form. When I raised my head from his 
heart and pressed the hand of the faithful friend, who 
knelt in silent prayer at the foot of the coffin, I felt 
the old strength and my usual courage again awake. 
It was like a sunbeam struggling through the leaden 
mist of winter ; the ray lasts only a second and dark- 
ness soon surrounds us again. But we have been re- 
minded of the unfailing light above. 


A sudden hope thrilled me. Might not my 
mother’s paralyzed mind be roused by the sight of 
her beloved husband ? The physician made no ob- 
jection to the bold attempt, but also gave no hope of 
its success. So the coffin was carried into the sitting- 
room and placed where the sofa, on which the dead 
man had so often rested, usually stood. The cloak 
covered the rigid limbs, the head was turned as if in 
peaceful slumber. 

I carried the invalid out of her chamber in my 
arms like a helpless child and seated her opposite to 
the coffin. With what eager suspense I watched her 
features! Alas, the staling eyes rested mechani- 
cally on the dead face, but not even the quiver of a 
muscle betrayed pleasure or pain, there was not the 
slightest token that she recognized him, that she even 
saw him ! Her heart was dead, perhaps already in 
the other world with him ; only the blood still flowed 
in the soulless machine. How long would this last, 
hours, years ? The doctor silently shrugged his 
shoulders, as my despairing eyes asked the question. 

We placed the invalid in my attic chamber, in 
order to have the lower rooms free and quiet for the 
dead. Sorrowful arrangements about the funeral 
were to be made. The old soldier had no comrades 
in the city, who could accompany him to his final 
resting place, the last von Reckenburg had no son, 
no blood relative to throw the first handful of earth 
into his grave. But his daughter should not fail him 
on his last journey, and that the journey might be 
made as quietly and unostentatiously as possible, I 
selected an hour in the evening and kind Christlieb 


276 the: last von RE:cHE:NBaR( 5 . 

Taube made all the preparations with this object. 
He himself, aided by the faithful servant, dug at 
night the grave for which room had been found be- 
side the Faber family lot. The old neighbors were 
to rest near each other under the earth. 

Not until this mournful service was finished, did 
good Christlieb Taube set out to convey the sad news 
to my friend in the cloister, spend the night with 
him, and go back to his pupils the next day. As soon 
as he returned from the funeral in the evening, he 
intended to leave for home, accompanied by Purzel. 

The poor fellow, after having conquered his first 
alarm, gradually arrived at a repentant realization 
that he had abandoned his colors. 

“ I didn’t desert, Fraulein Hardine,” he said, sob- 
bing ; “ only scattered. And my wound isn’t mortal, 
as I thought, but a mere scratch. Only let me stay 
to see my Herr Major buried, and then I will find the 
regiment and be shot like him ! ” 

While on his way to us, Christlieb Taube had heard 
that the troops from Saalfeld had fallen back towards 
the north, upon the main body, and occupied Jena. 
The regiment, therefore, was to be sought there. 
Various rumors, however, asserted that the army had 
already seized upon the pass of the Saale at Kbsen, 
and a roundabout way must, therefore, be taken. 
What unhappy fate threatened our army, if this hos- 
tile investment proved true, by what gross errors it 
had become possible, we were to learn only too soon ; 
in those first hours of personal bereavement, we failed 
to appreciate the position of the nation. 

Christlieb Taube had set out on his way to the 


1806. 


277 


it 


cloister, the maid-servant, after the anxiety of the 
previous night, went to bed early ; Purzel was keep- 
ing watch, that is, the poor, exhausted soldier slept 
like a dead man beside his dear master’s coffin. A 
death-like silence pervaded the house. I sat alone 
beside my mother’s bed, whether minutes or hours I 
do not know. In this dreary solitude the conscious- 
ness of my orphanhood rose distinctly before me for 
the first time. Orphanhood ! For the heart that 
throbbed mechanically beside me was no longer that 
of a mother, and no one can measure the desolation of 
this consciousness unless, like me, with the threads 
that lead back to the past, every tie of the soul is 
sundered. I was thirty years old, had neither brother 
nor sister, no hope of a coming race, — was the last 
of my blood and name. Before me, beside me, behind 
me, all was vacancy — yes; I was, indeed, an orphan. 

And then, I was poor ; whatever might happen in 
the future, at this moment I was terribly poor. On 
my own account I should scarcely have considered this 
a trouble. I had my post at Recken burg, and if some 
day I should be compelled to leave it, “ I will go to the 
backwoods of America, as a colonist,” I had more 
than once smilingly answered, when the provost urged 
the necessity of reminding the countess of her duties 
towards me. In my present mood I would quickly 
have turned the jest into earnest, at any rate, found 
my place in the management of larger estates. But 
when I looked at my mother, whom I could not de- 
sert in her slow agony, poverty became an oppressive 
burden. 

The change in my situation, however, was too new 


2^8 TH£ last von reckenburo. 

and agitating, for me to realize it with any clearness 
.of thought. Ideas glided through my soul slowly and 
heavily. The lamp, veiled by a shade, diffused a dim 
light ; it was necessary to keep the sick room cool. I 
shivered, as even the strongest, after a great agita- 
tion, shiver in the house of death. I had not rested 
a moment for two days, and was now oppressed by 
that leaden weight, which, is half-way between sleep- 
ing and waking, and in which we vainly try to consider 
whether the various things we see are really visible 
to our waking eyes, or only glide past us in a dream. 

While in this state it suddenly seemed as if I felt 
some living creature brush past me ; I saw a muffled 
figure bend over the sick bed, gaze intently at my 
mother’s face, and then fall on the floor between her 
and myself. The noise, the touch drove away the 
nightmare. It was no dream ; the mysterious appa- 
rition was lying at my feet. I started up, seized the 
lamp, and threw the light upon the face — Dorothee ! 
Dorothee was lying in convulsions, icy cold, with 
fixed, glassy eyes, clenched teeth, and hands clutch- 
ing her dress above her heart — the same terrible 
sight my mother had witnessed on her wedding day. 

All the mists that had clouded my mind vanished 
at the frightful spectacle ; my own fate was almost 
forgotten. I carried her to the sofa, opened the win- 
dow, and gave her some drops of a cordial that stood 
ready for my mother. She did not seem to have lost 
her consciousness, and it was only a few minutes ere 
the rigid muscles relaxed, the limbs began to grow 
warm. The pulse once more became perceptible, but 
it was long ere the expression of agony left the eyes. 


1806.” 


2/9 


She was still beautiful ; the same pliant, youthful 
figure, the same transparency of complexion. The 
delicate hands, the arrangement of the hair and dress, 
everything I saw betokened elegance and comfort ; 
everything I had heard of her social position during 
the recent occupation of the city by the Prussians, 
spoke of security and honor ; she was a beloved wife, 
a happy woman, and how desolate, how wretched I 
had seemed to myself a few minutes before. 

And yet — for who can describe that expression of 
constraint which, like an iron band, distinguishes the 
unhappy, or was it a sadder look than that of fear in 
a child’s eyes — and yet a voice within said to 
me: this beautiful, richly-endowed woman is more 
wretched, more forsaken than you ! 

And as if the voice had roused an echo, the pale 
lips whispered : “ Hardine, I am more unhappy than 
you.” 

The convulsion had passed away ; she breathed 
and moved freely, but did not start up as usual ; she 
did not blush, her lids did not droop, she did not cling 
to my knees, to my arms, did not even hold out her 
hand to me. She fixed her weary eyes upon mine, 
and rose slowly, as if long accustomed to self-control. 

Just as quietly obeying my mute sign, she lay down 
again, and after I had taken a seat beside her, ex- 
plained, without any question on my part, her sudden 
appearance. She did this in clear, curt words, as if 
making a report, not relating a story. Her accent 
was purer, her language had become more finished, 
but the silvery, lark-like tone of the voice sounded 
muffled. 


28 o the last von reckenburg. 

''Faber,” she said, "had joined the army several 
weeks before in the king’s train. I could without 
discovery, and even if discovered, without exciting 
any surprise, venture to take a journey home, make 
arrangements for the boy’s future, perhaps see him. 
From the last station I went to the cloister on foot. 
Evening had closed in. The provost declined to let 
me see the boy to-night, just before bed time. It 
would attract attention, cause suspicious recollections, 
discoveries. The boy ought not to be reminded of a 
mother, who could neither tell him a father’s name, 
nor take him to a home.” 

" I was forced to yield,” she continued after a 
pause, with almost icy rigidity. "I should never 
have the courage to confess in my husband’s pres- 
ence that I was the boy’s mother.” 

" And what would you fear, if you did ? ” I asked. 
She started, nay, I believe sighed gently at the you * 
I involuntarily used. Yet she seemed to quickly 
understand the change in our relations, and answered 
with an expression of the utmost sincerity : " Noth- 
ing for myself. If he cast me off, I would thank him 
for my freedom ; if he killed me, I would bless him 
for the deliverance. You do not know, Fraulein von 
Reckenburg, what it is to have denied nature. But 
do you ask what I fear ? I cannot explain clearly. 
A vague, perhaps false presentiment of hatred, 
vengeance — since he cannot reach the father — 
against the innocent boy, hostility also towards — 
towards — ” 


♦ Germans always use the word thou in familiar intercourse. 


“1 806.” 


281 

“ Towards the accomplices in the guilt,” I said, 
completing the sentence. 

She bent her head. “ He is a just, an unsuspicious 
man, and kind, oh ! far too kind to me,” she con- 
tinued ; “ but when I think of that, it seems as if a 
dagger glittered before my eyes. He would never 
forgive, and the innocent, perhaps, still less than me, 
whom he has been accustomed to love. All this may 
be self-deception ; even the fear of pouring the cor- 
roding poison into a trusting soul. Can one whose 
whole life has been one long lie, know herself ? So I 
simply say : I have not the courage to confess the 
truth. And then, I have no longer the power to do 
so. Whenever I try to speak, I am attacked by the 
convulsions you have just witnessed. If I attempted 
to write, my hand would be paralysed. It is no dis- 
ease ; it will not kill me ; I shall grow old with it, 
or — or ” she pointed to her forehead with a look 
that made me shudder. 

Have you any children } ” I asked, after a long 
pause. 

She shook her head. ‘‘ God is just,” she replied 
at last. ‘‘No, He is merciful. I could not be a good 
mother to any child.” 

“ And your husband ? ” 

. “ Does not miss them, or does not show me that 
he misses them. He is very, verj/ considerate towards 
me,” she added, as for the first time something like 
a smile flitted across her features. “‘You are my 
child, Dorothee,’ he has said more than once. ‘No 
physician wishes the martyrdom and cares of mater- 
nity for a beloved wife. He sees suffering enough 
outside of his home.’” 


282 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

** And have you learned to return his love ? " I 
asked, after another pause. She gazed at me as if 
reflecting upon her answer, and then said : “ I think 
I should have overcome my childish awe, and learned 
to love him, if I had become his at the time of our 
betrothal, when I had no reason to fear him. But 
now that I have — love him } oh ! not even as a bene- 
factor, as a friend. The soul dies in the slavery of 
sin.” 

And does he not feel this lack ? ” 

Not that I have ever noticed. My cool reserve 
suits the imaginary picture he has formed of me. I 
think my original nature would have been burden- 
some to him. Either, Fraulein von Reckenburg, love 
is an enigma with many constructions, or this man 
has no idea what it is to love.” 

After these words we sat side by side in silence 
for a time, then she continued the story my question 
had interrupted. “The provost persuaded me to 
spend the night in the city in my old room. He 
would find some pretext to bring the boy to me the 
following morning. He accompanied me only to the 
gate of the city, as I did not wish to be seen and 
perhaps recognized in his company. Neither he nor 
I suspected the calamity which has fallen upon this 
house. I saw a light in the lower room and found 
the door unlocked. I should have liked to glide 
silently upstairs. But could I do so unnoticed } So 
I entered. The old soldier was sleeping in a chair 
beside the covered couch and did not awake. I 
raised the sheet and beheld the dead face of the man 
I had loved far more than my own father. I went 


‘‘i8o6.” 


283 


up stairs, and again bent over one, whom I deeply 
honored, and whom death had already seized. I now 
wished to escape from the house unseen, to spare 
you the sight of me both now and forever. The 
convulsion attacked me. Pardon me, Fraulein von 
Reckenburg.” 

I cannot describe in words, how this expression of 
dull resignation cut me to the soul. How the im- 
pulsive child must have struggled, what must she 
have suffered, to acquire such entire self-control! 
I drew her head to my heart, pressed her hand, and 
said: ‘‘The dead man loved you like his own child — 
let all evil memories be forgotten between us, 
Dorothee.” 

A flush as bright as had ever tinged her cheeks in 
her happiest days suffused the pale face. She bent 
over my hand and warm tears fell upon it. The 
clock struck twelve. “ Oh I Fraulein Hardine ! ” she 
exclaimed, “if you are in earnest — and you never 
made a promise which you did not keep — prove it 
now, for this is perhaps the last time we shall ever 
see each other in our lives. Rest, and let me watch 
beside this dear lady, nurse her once more as I used 
to do. You need strength for to-morrow, and I, 
could I rest while expecting it .!* Do not grudge me 
the comfort of this confidence, Fraulein Hardine I ” 

“Yes, watch beside my mother, Dorothee,” I 
replied without hesitation, “ I will sleep in your bed 
in the other room.” 

As if transformed by some magic spell she instantly 
became the old Dorl, kissed my hand, inquired about 
the physician’s prescriptions, busily arranged every- 


284 the last von reckenburg. 

thing for the night, lighted a candle, and led the 
way to the chamber she had occupied in her girl- 
hood. 

On the threshold she paused; she saw that the 
room had been kept in the neatest order, precisely as 
she had left it. On the window stood a clump of 
rosemary, which my mother had raised from the 
sprigs used on the wedding-day. 

She burst into a flood of tears and buried her face 
in her hands. “ Oh ! if I had never, never crossed 
this threshold ! ” she sobbed. But she soon regained 
her composure, arranged my bed, helped me undress, 
mixed a glass of sugar and water for me, all with 
her graceful floating movements, then kissed my 
hand and went across to my mother’s room. 

But, as if the lovely creature had given me a 
sleeping potion, I slumbered undisturbed until 
morning dawned. When I entered the sick-room, 
Dorothee was standing at the window attired in one 
of the white dresses she had worn in her girlhood, as 
she did not wish the bright colors of her traveling 
costume to form too striking a contrast with our 
mourning. Her luxuriant hair had fallen a sacrifice 
to the fashion of the times, the short locks curled 
naturally around her delicate head. She was stand- 
ing behind the curtain, watching with sparkling eyes 
and a feverish flush on her cheeks for the boy, whom 
she no longer dared to call her boy. 

But no matter how she might strain her eyes, the 
dense morning mist — the fog of the 14th of October 
— veiled every object. She uttered no sound, a 
slight tremor ran through her figure, over which the 


1806.” 285 

passionate agony of expectation had shed a semblance 
of the impetuosity of her early youth. 

At last she heard steps on the stairs, and I followed 
her to the door. But it was the provost alone, who 
had caught the sobbing woman in his arms. “ My 
foster son will follow me immediately,” he said, 
“This first hour belongs to our mourning friends, 
dear Dorothee.” 

With these words he entered the sick-room ; 
another to pour balm into the sore hearts, another 
long estranged and now regained friend. 

He was a counsellor and help to us all throughout 
the long anxious day ; Dorothee, in particular, who in 
her excitement often forgot the caution prescribed by 
her friend, owed to him the preservation of her 
incognito. Christlieb Taube remained in the country 
until the evening, the old servant had left the house 
early in the morning to attend to the business of the 
funeral, the door was closed to all visitors. The 
maid-servant could be trusted, she knew nothing of 
the past history of the household and, in her dull 
honesty, scarcely noticed the presence of the stranger 
in the house of mourning. 

Our friends had said farewell to the dead and left 
me alone in the room beside his coffin. A noise at 
the door roused me from my reverie ; it was the 
provost, who led the boy to the corpse, that the 
concealed mother might see him, while at the same 
time the child’s attention would be diverted from the 
violently agitated woman. If he also hoped to 
produce a discouraging impression of the perils of a 
soldier’s life, his plan, after the manner of many wise 


286 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

designs, produced precisely the opposite effect ; it 
only roused the thirst for battle, the soldier’s blood, 
in the boy. 

You have had a detailed account of this scene 
in Augustus Muller’s recollection, my friends. Let 
me add only one thing. When the boy exclaimed 
in such a eager, joyous tone : “ I, too, will die for our 
native land ! ” and that terrible cry burst forth from 
the mother’s heart, I felt my unjust anger against the 
'‘wild stock” disappear; for I again saw in him the 
son of the friend who had atoned for the follies of his 
youth by a chivalrous death. 

“ I shall never see him again, never ! ” With this 
cry of agony the unhappy mother fell upon the floor, 
as the door closed behind her child. She was again 
attacked with convulsions. We carried her up to her 
chamber, and she revived in the arms of her old friend, 
whose tears were falling upon her. “God is the 
Father of the fatherless,” he said, but she fixed her 
glassy eyes upon him, murmuring, “and you are 
God’s priest on earth.” 

After these words I went away, leaving the two to 
a long conversation about the boy’s future. A con- 
siderable sum, to pay the expenses of tuition and de- 
fray the first cost of apprenticing the boy to the fores- 
ter, was placed in his guardian’s hands on this occasion. 
Dorothee did not exchange another word with me 
until she took her departure ; she remained in the 
sick room and humbly obeyed every sign from her 
friend. The iron band, from which she had been re- 
leased for a few hours, again pressed upon her brow. 
She had again bowed under the burden of her fate, 


** i8o6/’ 287 

and could I now venture to say — break it, or fly 
from him. 

While these events were occurring, the first vague 
rumors of the terrible catastrophe of the day spread 
through the city. Peasants, who came from the more 
western villages to the market, stated that they had 
heard constant cannonading since early in the morn- 
ing ; Leipsic merchants returning from Frankfort 
spoke positively of Davoust’s successful manoeuvre 
and a bloody battle with the main army, which had 
been seen the day before on the march from Weimar. 
The village of Hassenhausen was even named as the 
point where the conflict had raged most fiercely. 
All our citizens who had any kind of carriage or horse, 
sallied forth towards the west, to ascertain the truth 
of these statements and their consequences. 

Again a dense crowd thronged the market place ; 
but not 07te glance was hopeful, not 07 ie voice spoke 
words of cheer. The tragic prelude of Saalfeld had 
aroused the darkest forebodings. 

But no one felt these presentiments more sadly than 
those who, assembled in the house of mourning around 
the victim of the battle of Saalfeld, saw the 14th of 
October pass away in silent brooding. Who could 
describe the sorrowful emotions, which within a 
few hours met beneath one roof.? Tragedy followed 
tragedy, personal grief was merged in the calamity of 
the nation, the anguish of the past in that of the fu- 
ture. Each individual had some peculiar sorrow, 
anxiety, fear, or torture, while sharing the suffering 
of the others, and over all the impending fate of their 
native land brooded like a threatening thunder cloud. 


288 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

At last evening closed in, and the funeral proces- 
sion moved forward. Although I had wished the 
burial to take place quietly, without the presence 
of strangers, I could not nor did I desire to prevent 
the citizens, almost without an exception, from walk- 
ing at the head of the train, bearing torches in their 
hands. If they honored the brave soldier who died 
for his native land, they likewise mourned an old and 
valued friend. 

I walked behind the coffin with the provost, fol- 
lowed by Christlieb Taube and the old servant. And 
so we lowered the beloved form to its last repose, all 
in tears, all oppressed with grief, at the very hour 
when, routed at the same time in two battles, the 
German armies, neither suspecting the fate of the 
other, dispersed in wild confusion. 

The first and still vague report of the defeat of 
Hassenhausen — it was not called Auerstadt until 
afterwards — reached us when we returned from the 
funeral. Christlieb Taube, with his “ scattered " 
companion, therefore hastily departed in the direction 
agreed upon the day before by way of Freiburg. The 
provost also urged Dorothee to set out on her return 
by the night coach, for who could be sure that on the 
morrow the whole country would not be flooded with 
a disorderly rabble of friends and foes. So the first 
eternal farewell was now followed by one parting 
after another, and each probably with a foreboding 
that it might be the last. 

The former tutor and lover did not suspect that he 
had been under the same roof with Siegmund Faber s 
wife. The faithful heart has hardly found repose, 


8o6/' 


289 


do not let us disturb him again/^ said our old friend, 
and Dorothee remained concealed until the little car- 
riage rolled away. But I must bear witness that the 
faithful heart had by no means found repose. After 
the worthy man had said farewell to us, I found him 
on the threshold of Dorothee’s room wiping his eyes. 
“No one who has ever loved heVy can forget,” he said 
in a broken voice. A sorrowful little interlude amid 
so many scenes of horror ! 

Dorothee had put on her travelling dress, and I 
held her hand for a last farewell. It had been a day 
of silence for us both ; now something which she 
vainly strove to express in words evidently oppressed 
her heart. “ May I speak } ” she asked at last with 
downcast eyes, and when I cordially assented, said 
hastily : 

“You will be rich, very rich, Fraulein Hardine, 
some day — perhaps soon — But at present, during 
the unsettled state of affairs in the country, if you 
would perhaps — perhaps — ” 

I shook my head. 

“You need not take the loan from me, Fraulein 
Hardine; you would not, I know; but — from him. 
He makes so much money, and values it so little. 
He uses so little. You would give him a great pleas- 
ure, Fraulein Hardine.” 

“No, Dorothee,” I answered, hastily; no. From 
you I might accept a loan, a support, if I needed it. 
From him, never ! ” 

I saw her turn pale, and regretted the evil memory 
I had involuntarily recalled. I clasped her in my 
arms, kissed her for the first time in my life, and we 


290 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

parted without another word. A few minutes after 
I heard the post-chaise roll away. In the general 
confusion no one had recognized in the silent, closely 
veiled traveller, the much envied ex-fellow-citizen. 
Her hasty visit home remained a secret. 

The provost, too, could not leave his institution 
any longer in such troubled times. After the two 
most disturbed days of my life, I again sat alone, at 
midnight, in the silent sick room. 

How, during the next few days, the extent of the 
misfortune, which far exceeded all anticipation, be- 
came apparent ; how the proud victors took posses- 
sion of the country, half of whose troops became 
French allies ; how the Prussian prisoners, deprived 
of the barest necessaries, were shut up in churches 
and sheds ; the stately castle was converted into a hos- 
pital, plundered by friend and foe ; how all crowded 
in admiration around the unconquerable emperor, as 
on the 1 8th of October, a day so fatal to him seven 
years later, he dashed through our little city toward 
Leipsic ; how each expected safety solely from the 
mercy of this ambassador of God — spare me the 
account of these loathsome, horrible scenes. They 
lingered in my memory, long after the anguish of my 
heart had subsided into peace. 

At the time, to be sure, personal necessities smoth- 
ered sympathy for the nation. The hostile train, 
which so often follows a great sorrow, and in true 
tyrannical fashion takes vengeance upon pride — 
anxiety about the means of existence, fears for daily 
bread, sleepless nights beside a sick bed, shame at 
failing strength, humiliating hopes for aid from 


“ isoer 


291 


strangers, rose above the horizon of my life. True, 
it was but for a short time, perhaps onfy that I 
might learn to know them face to face. I did learn 
the lesson, but was approaching the limits of old 
age ere I took it to heart. 

My poor mother’s helpless condition might last for 
years, while our little store of money would scarcely 
suffice for a few months. The small widow’s pen- 
sion, if it could be granted at all in these times, 
would not have covered our most imperative wants, 
work done by my unpracticed hand would scarcely have 
found a purchaser. The invalid, according to the 
doctor’s opinion, might have been removed to Reck- 
enburg without danger; but the countess did not 
even vouchsafe an answer to my letter containing the 
news of the loss we had sustained, or the representa- 
tions of our situation repeatedly made by the provost. 
This faithful friend, therefore, had reason to think 
that all my future hopes would be destroyed, if any 
one else should take the post of steward I had 
vacated, and skilfully make use of it, and how much 
more important, how much more alluring than I had 
ever acknowledged, these prospects seemed to me 
now. In short, I saw no escape from my trouble 
and the little door that at last opened to me, the door 
which now, wreathed with the evergreen garlands of 
faithfulness, shines before my memory as the portals 
of the gold-tower of Reckenburg, then seemed nar- 
row and oppressive to the proud heart. 

The asylum which the rich relative refused in her 
empty palace, the poor servant opened in her lowly 
hut. Nurse Justine offered to receive and take charge 


292 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

of her former mistress, while the daughter returned 
to the post which so urgently needed her services. 
The faithful soul urged a speedy departure, and de- 
scribed her little store of savings as an inexhaustible 
supply. 

And I did not delay to grasp the outstretched 
hand. Preparations for the change of residence were 
hastily made. The invalid was to be removed to her 
new home before Christmas. 

But God’s will was more merciful. He spared me 
the sham^ of seeing my mother nursed by a stranger’s 
hands, and gave her a resting place beside the hus- 
band she had loved so long and so tenderly. A few 
days before the morning appointed for the journey, I 
found that she had gently fallen asleep, and thus my 
home-life closed with a second funeral. 

But this was not the last of the great year of 
change. When I entered Castle Reckenburg, early 
on Christmas morning, the countess was in her death 
agony. She tore her clothes and hair, clung to the 
nurse in mortal terror, and shrieked for help, air, and 
light. 

I opened the window. A bright flood of sunlight 
was reflected from the white snow, a refreshing 
breeze streamed into the long-closed, airless room ; 
the Christmas bells rang from the steeple, which 
still uninjured, towered above the dilapidated house 
of God. The countess’s convulsions gradually 
ceased, her breathing grew calm and quiet. She 
turned her eyes, now bright and keen as ever — not 
upon the coffer of gold beside her chair, but upon 
me, held out her hand, seized mine in a strong clasp, 
and exclaimed in an almost joyous tone : 


1806.” 


293 


“ In right and honor ! ” 

Those were her dying words and I understood 
their meaning. In the last hours of the year 1806 
we lowered the mysterious old woman to her rest, 
and the rule of the last von Reckenburg began. 


294 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 

Walk through Reckenburg, if you wish to read 
the history of the next twenty years of my life, years 
in which the time that had preceded them gradually 
became a vague memory, and from whose commence- 
ment I have become accustomed to date the story of 
my real existence. 

It was a period of labor, but a labor that contained 
within itself all the conditions of success, and, there- 
fore, of satisfaction ; for to a long-cherished plan 
was joined a persistent will and command of ample 
means for its execution. 

My predecessor’s wealth was not inexhaustible, as 
popular fables had described it ; nay, for years, it had 
lain almost as dead capital. But it was more than 
sufficient for an important object, if we take into con- 
sideration the person who had the power to dispose 
of it at pleasure. 

Money, in itself y had little charm or value for me, 
for, although I should not have relished my prede- 
cessor’s porridge and acorn tea, my character and 
education rendered simplicity a necessity, rather than 
an obligation. My fields were my sphere of labor, 
and the hitherto unused balcony-room, made a little 
more comfortable and furnished with the articles 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


295 


brought from my former home, afforded sufficient 
comfort for the hours of rest. I had no aesthetic 
tastes, no social needs ; I was destitute of family 
ties and free from that good-natured liberality which 
squanders the largest means because it is unable to 
say “no.” Stimma summarum ; nature and fate had 
made the economy, required by every struggle, easy 
to me. 

But what first gives the authority for such strug- 
gles : a place and time, were, at least, not unfavor- 
able to mine. Amid events that shook the entire 
continent I had six whole years of peace, during 
which to lay a firm foundation. The estate was 
away from the main routes of the armies, and 
though there was no lack of recruiting and levying 
supplies, while people bore their burdens with sullen 
faces, because those who were hated as enemies 
styled themselves friends, my plan would not have 
prospered so well under the rule of the neighboring 
province, striving so hard to maintain the remnant 
of its independence, as under the quiet vassalage of 
our own. You know this plan ; it was to extend the 
rich cultivation of the landed property belonging to 
me over the whole poor parish. 

If canals and protecting dykes, good roads, re- 
claimed marshes, and well-guarded forests extended 
over the lands belonging to the village ; if timber was 
felled for the benefit of the whole community, brick 
kilns built, loads of stone from the quarries hewn 
out ; if the church and school-house rose from their 
ruins, and at last, instead of the loathsome, dilapi- 
dated huts, neat villages appeared, which I include 


296 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

under the one name of “Reckenburg” — all this, 
which meets the eye as a result, was only the means 
to an end and an easy expedient for a free, full hand. 
The object of my task and its difficulty was to put a 
renovated race in the renovated fields ; a vigorous, 
orderly, and industrious peasantry in the parish of 
Reckenburg. “His Majesty Fritz in Pomerania,” 
my kind provost jestingly called me in his encouraging 
letters ; and in fact it was just such a starving, idle 
population, over which I usurped the government. 
Yes, usurped; for it was not hereditary subm.issive- 
ness, but necessity and the charm of wealth which 
made them my slaves. The productive lands of even 
the rich peasants had been sold in times of calamity 
to large proprietors, scarcely anything except a few 
barren shreds of moorland and bogs remained in the 
hands of poachers, smugglers, and idle day laborers. 
But my certainty of cure rested upon this very foun- 
dation of misfortune. For the most luxuriant fields 
degenerate, and the poorest soil is improved by cul- 
ture. Soil, which for a long time has borne crops of 
oil and sugar, sinks, exhausted, into producing oats ; 
a forest that a century ago was devastated by a hurri- 
cane, by dint of patience and industry is converted, 
at the end of another century, into a pine forest, and 
at last stands as of old. And as with the earth, so 
with the lord of the soil. Not on the sluggard’s bed, 
whether it is that of misery or luxury, but upright, by 
the sweat of his brow, is man formed. 

I did not impress this horn-book wisdom on the 
minds of my colony by the blundering words of the 
missionary, but as mint-master, with the stamp I had 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


297 


found in the black countess’ gold tower. He who 
cultivated his barren land and fed his cattle according 
to my directions, received from the stock on the 
estate tools, seed, and young animals, and in case of 
failure in the crops or sickness, obtained another sup- 
ply ; but 7iever except on condition of gradual resto- 
ration after years of prosperity. He who was most 
industrious received an addition to his land from the 
estate, which, during the time of war, had been still 
more enlarged without any very heavy expenditure. 
This, too, however, was fiever done, except on con- 
dition of a moderate, but regular rent, that was 
accepted in payment for the land. 

In making these enlargements, it had been ar- 
ranged from the beginning that the pieces of ground 
obtained by each individual should be as near each 
other and his farm-house as possible. This practical 
beneficial arrangement was executed entirely through 
my arbitration, and certainly through my sacrifice. 
But he who is not willing to make sacrifices, ought 
not to attempt to institute reforms. 

Everything was founded on mutual services ; not 
the smallest article was given away, the most cus- 
tomary infringement upon property tolerated. Even 
the berries the children gathered in the woods, the 
twigs and gleanings collected by the women, were 
subjected to a trifling tax. True, the mistress of the 
castle, as agent, bought at the highest market prices, 
and in this way carried on a game of which she was 
well aware, by giving with one hand what she took 
with the other; but she saved the people time, did 
not divert their attention to business in general. 


298 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

strengthened the sense of right, which is most surely 
undermined by small transgressions, and a feeling of 
honor, which begins with the idea of profit and ends 
with that of toleration. 

The rebuilding of the villages was gradually accom- 
plished according to a plan previously made. 

The old proprietor, who moved his ruinous house 
to the spot I designated, the new-comer, who built 
according to my design, each individual who agreed 
to keep his premises neat and orderly, received the 
ground on which to erect his house, the material, and 
a gratuitous support during the time required to 
build, to be afterwards repaid with interest ; and all 
this without the use of a pen or an account-book. A 
simple clasp of the hand was sufficient ; and the inex- 
orableness with which I withdrew the assistance at 
any stratagem on the part of the peasants, answered 
to me for the faith of the contracting parties, till 
order and honesty had become a habit at Recken- 
burg. That the castle treasury could scarcely have 
done a worse business, if I had said: “ Hinz, I will 
give you a piece of land,’’ or “ Kunz, you may have 
one of my meadows,” that the joy of the receiver and 
giver might take the place of the uneasiness of the 
debtor and the watchfulness of the creditor, was not 
considered and ought not to have been. It was not 
the flower of kindly feeling, but the tree of right 
and honor I desired to plant in the soil of Recken- 
burg. 

Lastly, yet not for the last time, the assistants who 
labored so bravely with me in establishing this colony 
must be remembered. I must consider it a piece of 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


299 


great good fortune, that shortly after the commence- 
ment of my rule, the pastor, a worthy German and 
father of a family, preferred the comfortable position 
of a city preacher to this rude parish at Reckenburg. 
Only one little hour of church service was given to 
the active citizens. The man went to the right place, 
and I found the right man for mine. Without wholly 
releasing the parish from its obligations, the salary 
was sufficiently enlarged by the mistress of the cas- 
tle, and at my invitation Ludwig Nordheim, the 
second, took charge of it. 

With his disposition and the later development of 
my character, the son could not be the friend his 
father had been ; but the active man became a far 
more efficient colleague. If his father, by gentle 
words and acts, had tried to spread the kingdom of 
heaven among us, the son spared no denunciations to 
make hell hot for us. The former was thwarted, the 
latter produced an effect ; for at that time there were 
more candidates for hell than heaven among the 
people of Reckenburg. Moreover, we found for the 
children a master who, in addition to book knowl- 
edge, understood how to use the axe and plough. I 
had at first thought with ardent longing of our faith- 
ful Christlieb Taube, but at last spared him immola- 
tion on a lost post. He is still living among his 
mountains, tending his roses and playing the organ 
to the honor of God. Without wife or child of his 
own, he is beloved as a father by the generation he 
has educated. The poorest and richest among the 
companions of my youth ! The happiest also ! I 
have not seen him since my father’s funeral. 


300 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

Another faithful friend, our honest Purzel, I was 
able to keep under my own eyes for several years. 
His time of enlistment had expired, and he had a 
horror of serving under the banner of the conqueror 
of Jena, whom he fiercely hated; not as a patriot, 
but as the servant of his dead master. He therefore 
entered easily into the role of footman which was 
always maintained at Reckenburg, under the honorary 
title of “ Heyduc,” and wore his queue till the day 
of his death. The most faithful of the faithful died 
many years before him. Her goal on earth was 
reached, when she saw her darling at the height of 
the grandeur pictured in her dreams, and in this 
proud position no longer compelled to parry the arts 
of any malicious low diamond. 

The hardest loss was that of my only friend, the 
provost. I never saw him again. His delicate health 
and my constant occupations bound each to his or 
her post. His last letter was written in the summer 
of 1809 and contained the news of Augustus Muller’s 
disappearance from the forester’s house. Anxiety 
about his beloved prot^g^ may have worn out the 
feeble body. 

I did not share this anxiety. The lad’s soldierly 
instincts could not have been forever restrained ; 
and of what were we so greatly in need as these 
daring military impulses } If in a premature thirst 
for vengeance he had found a premature death — 
well ! The soil, from which freedom is to vSpring, 
must, it is said, be watered with the blood of martyrs ; 
and how could I have failed to recognize a happy 
coincidence in the fact, that the son of my hero of 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


301 


Valmy should rush forward under the son of the 
commander-in-chief, to efface the disgrace that com- 
menced with the battle of Valmy. 

When Augustus Muller suddenly appeared before 
me, I had almost forgotten him for many, many 
years. Whether Dorothee knew of his disappearance 
among the troops of the black duke or whether she 
merely suspected it, I had never discovered. Since 
I said farewell to her on the day of my father’s 
funeral, she, too, had been as one dead. I was glad 
that we had parted in peace, but I felt the same as dur- 
ing the time of discord : we had done with each other. 
Now and then her husband’s ever increasing fame 
reminded me of the only playmate of my childhood. 
Though little more than thirty years of age, my 
loneliness was such as rarely falls to the lot of women. 
A strongly rooted tree amid a quantity of low bushes. 

But during my active labor I remained a sympa- 
thizing observer of the national life, whose catastrophe 
had occurred at the time my own new existence 
began. I had never doubted its recuperation. I had 
learned on my own estate that storms which crush 
ripeiied harvests, fertilize new crops ; and in Prussia 
a strong, hardy race was struggling for development. 

Through the count, our neighbor, who was then in 
another province, I entered into a sort of league with 
the patriots, who were secretly weaving their plans 
in Prussia and Austria, and why should I conceal the 
fact, that much of the income at my disposal was 
applied to the loftiest purposes.^ But when at last 
the holiest conflict had begun, with what delight the 
magnificent apartments of Reckenburg were thrown 


302 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

open to the wounded men, the fame of whose noble 
deeds filled the whole country. Yes, yes, my friends, 
the heroes of Biilow and York fared sumptuously on 
the provisions the black countess had stored in 
cellars and barns. So I can boast of being one of 
the few among my equals in rank, who from the 
first hour stood forth openly on the side of the 
struggling people, boast that no one submitted more 
joyfully than I to a government, which had again boldly 
fought its way to right and honor. For anyone who 
labors so industriously at the improvement of his 
own house as I have done, endeavors to place it under 
the shelter of a strong nation. 

But it was now necessary to repair many damages 
the troops had made in my territories, and no less 
needful to accustom myself and my tenants to the stern, 
often harsh acts required by the new order of things. 
Then followed the famine of i8i6 and 1817, which 
drew largely upon the stores of barns and treasuries. 
At last, however, a pause ensued, in which it was only 
necessary to keep what had been already won. A 
quiet survey could be taken. 

Then I saw the work accomplished, which as it 
were, had become my existence ; saw the soil bearing 
rich harvests, and the tree of right and honor taking 
deep root in a new race. I looked with confidence 
at the germ of the parish, which now boasts that, for 
nearly a generation, no law suit has been conducted 
nor crime committed, no gambler nor drunkard lived 
within its precincts, no young girl approached the 
altar without the myrtle wreath ; a parish that sends 
its recruits to the army without a murmur, educates 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


303 


its orphans to labor without assistance, and permits 
no widow nor old man to suffer want. 

And I say yes and amen to this boast. In fact it 
was an upright and honest, but also a joyless, loveless 
colony. 

Joyless and loveless as she who founded it. For — 
why should it be concealed — what you call a heart, 
my friends, had nothing to do with my acts. I had 
used certain material, as every skilled workman — or 
artist — uses his. I had developed my energies in 
and for a community — I would, and this seems to 
me a mark of love — I would not have limited them 
for the sake of any individual. My pulse beat neither 
quicker nor slower at the fate of any individual 
among the peasants I called mine ; I carried the new 
born infant to the baptismal font, accompanied the 
bride to the altar, the dead to their graves ; but I 
felt less emotion while so doing, than when I saw my 
trees planted and felled, or my fields tilled for a new 
harvest. While I was trying to form a model peas- 
antry, the true peasant spirit had developed within 
me, a spirit which looks upon man as a product of 
the soil that supports him and which he nourishes in 
return. 

The tools clattered and the church bells rang, but 
there was neither singing nor talking on the Recken- 
burg estate. We did not dance under the May -pole, we 
did not rejoice at weddings and christenings. No 
Christmas festivals reminded us of the joyous message 
of God’s coming as a helpless child. The girls and 
young men did not marry from affection and inclina- 
tion, but motives of interest or in obedience to their 


304 the last von reckenburg. 

parents’ wishes ; the beggar avoided Reckenburg, 
for he saw no crumbs fall from the tables of the rich ; 
and “ work like us, and you will probably fare as well 
as we, let each provide for his own,” were the words 
that met him on the inhospitable thresholds. 
In fact, we were a very respectable, but a very love- 
less colony ! 

The vague consciousness of something wanting in 
my work and life dawned upon me, for the first time, 
in that pause when I ought to have rejoiced in my 
success. I felt no relaxation, but a sort of restless 
weariness, and there were hours when I said to my- 
self that, if I wanted to begin to live, I ought not to 
commence again like a working bee. I might have 
sought amusement, society, change, might have 
travelled, cultivated artistic taste, or adopted any of 
the pursuits that occupy the time of wealthy people. 
But I knew my own nature well enough to be aware 
that what I lacked could not be given me from with- 
out, but must spring up within. Yet I could not find 
the solution of what was struggling within me for ac- 
complishment. 

According to my habit, I did not in these investi- 
gations grope after the moon but took the matter 
exactly as it was. I was almost fifty years old, and 
though I had not felt more active and vigorous at 
twenty, I knew that the strongest threads break most 
quickly, and if mine tore suddenly, what would be- 
come of my Reckenburg robe, which had almost 
grown to my body, or what disposal did I wish to 
make of it ? 

True I saw many a proud sail set and many a flag 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


305 


of distress hoisted to run into the protecting harbor. 
But as in the days when pursued by suitors, so now it 
was repugnant to my feeling to satisfy insatiate greed, 
or shameless extravagance. I desired a free choice, 
and no instinct of the past, no interest of the present 
guided me into the right track. 

Plans of another kind also arose in my mind. How 
would it do to found an asylum for invalid soldiers or 
their orphans, for which, unfortunately, there was no 
lack of candidates at that time. Or an establish- 
ment for maiden ladies, for which, unhappily, there is 
never any lack of applicants. But do you know an 
old peasant — and I was in part just such a person — 
who would not prefer to bequeath his land to the 
least needy of his equals, rather than to the most indi- 
gent community } The thought of a communal 
model government of my estate was repulsive to me; 
I wanted to imagine the land stamped with the im- 
press of a certain individuality, as had been the case 
first in the old countess’ time and afterwards in mine, 
I wanted an heir, and in middle life began to regret 
that I had not in my youth married the first young 
nobleman who offered himself, and thus in the most 
natural way spared myself the trouble of a choice. 

As for my external position, since the return of 
peace I was no longer the hermit of the new tower. 
The impoverished government valued wealth, the 
newly won province a faithful adherent ; my advice 
was sought in rural arrangements, in short — from 
the highest to the lowest, every one treated me with 
the utmost respect, and thus a social intercourse was 
established, not as it exists between man and woman. 


3o6 the last von reckenburg. 

or woman and woman, but as is common between 
man and man ; yet anything different would have ex- 
cited my surprise. 

From time to time I now felt obliged to do the 
honors of Reckenburg by giving a banquet ; then all 
the surroundings, lackeys, gilt coach, greys, etc., lent 
their aid to add to the splendor of the owner of the 
castle. The Baroness von Reckenburg was quoted 
as an aristocrat of the purest water, and the remark 
was true. 

But these obligatory entertainments only made me 
feel my secret ennui still more keenly. Here my 
heart was least in the work, and the desire to make 
the building I had erected secure, never tortured me 
more than after such an interruption of the course 
of my simple daily life. If I could only have decided 
upon the where and how ! 

As during my youth of dependence, now year after 
year of boundless freedom glided by, in which only 
the mechanism of a regular routine supported me 
and I was fifty years old, when a prospect suddenly 
opened before me, upon which I certainly should not 
have turned my back in the days of my girlhood. 

I have already casually mentioned the count, our 
neighbor. You know and respect him, my friends, I 
therefore need say no more than that an extensive 
business intercourse had been maintained between 
us, and at that time he already enjoyed the confidence 
of the government to a far greater extent than any 
other nobleman in our province, whose posts of honor 
and most influential offices were nearly all conferred 
upon him. And no one had a better right to them. 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


307 


He was and is an official of the stamp which has 
won a classical name in the Prussian annals, a man 
who labors with such unwearied and unselfish energy 
for the public welfare, that his private business, es- 
pecially the management of his large entailed estates, 
perceptibly suffered. 

I prized the man according to his deserts, but his 
wife was one of the few women whose society was not 
burdensome to me ; for I possessed such a masculine 
taste that only the most feminine qualities in women 
attracted me. I believe, even on a desert island, I 
should have remained aloof from a female steward 
like Fraulein Hardine; while the child Dorothee, 
even as a sinner, had not lost her charms for me. 
The countess, however, was a quiet, delicate creature, 
the ^Hrue woman,” and my first thought would un- 
doubtedly have been to choose an heir for Recken- 
burg from among the children of this charming couple, 
three beardless youths, if they had grown up a little 
less dissolute and frivolous. True, I said to myself, 
that with the father’s ceaseless labor and the mother’s 
calm contentment, the fiery young spirits had lacked 
control ; but under all the circumstances it was abso- 
lutely necessary to. await the result of future develop- 
ments. 

A year before the count had become a widower. 
He had loved his wife very dearly, she had made him 
happy, and after her death he broke off all social in- 
tercourse, even with me. It seemed as if he wished 
to mourn her all his life and, apart from my fifty 
years, I could have had no greater surprise than 
when he came to me one day and, without any pre- 
liminaries, made me an offer of marriage. 


308 the last von reckenburg. 

The man was perfectly sane and as grave as a 
Cato. The bold request annoyed me more than it 
would have done from any one else. ‘‘ I am fifty 
years old, Count,” I said curtly. 

“ And so am I,” he replied with equa! brevity. 

‘‘That is, being a man, a quarter of a century 
younger,” I answered, and he rejoined : 

“Certainly, according to the usual ideas of mar- 
riage.” 

His strange frankness began to amuse me. I 
laughed heartily; but my suitor became still more 
grave. 

“ Do you take into account only the husband, not 
the father } ” he asked. “ I have sons — ” 

“Who need wives rather than a mother,” I inter- 
rupted. “ Why do you not say plainly : ‘ Adopt my 
boys and make them your heirs, Fraulein Hardine } ’ ” 

“ Simply because this arrangement would not ful- 
fil my wishes, or only half gratify them,” replied the 
count calmly. “ I am of course the first to appre- 
ciate the advantages which would result to my chil- 
dren from the name and inheritance of Reckenburg ; 
but the wants of the present are nearer to my heart 
than the splendor of the future. You will not ex- 
pect me. Baroness, to give these wants a sentimental 
dress. My heart is dead, and I am far from having 
the vanity to suppose I can awake yours to life. But 
we may be friends ; you can become my adviser and 
support, and I yours ; thereby mutually satisfying an 
evident need. 

“You, Fraulein von Reckenburg, stand before a 
successfully accomplished task, whose mechanical 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


309 


maintenance is not enough to satisfy you. You 
possess no contemplative nature, but hourly require 
some success won by your own efforts. You see 
yourself alone, and seek among strangers for one 
who would worthily bear and transmit a noble name. 
Well, I have a new sphere of usefulness and a pros- 
pect for the future to offer you, when I say : Draw 
from a pure, vigorous trunk the shoots you desire to 
graft upon the dying tree of Reckenburg. 

I, on the contrary — well, you know me ; you 
know what I do in the province of public affairs, and 
neglect in my own. Life on my estates is stagnant, 
while my sons are running wild. I see it with the 
anxiety of the father and the owner, see it — and can- 
not change, cannot curb my wider plans, or if you 
choose to call it so, my ambition. I am not the first 
man who has neglected his family for his profession ; 
every servant of the state does it, must do so, to a 
greater or less extent. Let me add, that at the pres- 
ent moment I am more than ever embarrassed by 
this conflict of duties. The government of the prov- 
ince, which has been confided to me as a stepping- 
stone to a higher office, would remove me permanently 
from the vicinity ; or, to speak more frankly, it will 
remove me, for I well know what my decision will be, 
and the question is only whether I am to go with a 
light or heavy heart.” 

He paused a moment. I, too, was silent. Then 
he continued : 

“ Let us clasp hands upon it, noble lady. No 
greater trust can be offered. You will add to the un- 
limited control of your own property the entire manage- 


310 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

ment of mine. The task is not too heavy for you. 
While a lieutenant and assistant to the father, you 
will be to the sons the wise friend they so greatly 
need. There is no other woman who can so well 
supply to boys a father’s place. You are strict and 
vigilant, and will be just, because you can judge a 
man’s nature by your own. My eldest son would 
leave the military school, and under your animating 
influence, fit himself for the duties of heir. You 
would find for the two younger boys the positions in 
life which, with more moderate means, will suit their 
talents, and if the father, with a mind at ease, suc- 
ceeds in accomplishing his plans for the benefit of his 
native land, the good he does and enjoys will be in- 
scribed in the book of your benefactions.” 

Well, now I saw a rock for my house ! Now, with 
a family connection, I still retained undisturbed 
freedom for myself, a sphere of action similar to the 
one in which I had already tested my powers, and a 
second, where new faculties could and would be de- 
veloped. For although I might have been a sup- 
port to which a delicate little vine would hardly 
cling, perhaps too harsh for the mother of daughters 
— I had learned among my peasantry how to train 
and control intractable lads, and should probably be 
able to manage the scions of a more aristocratic race. 
The count was right, I was a fit guardian, step-mother 
for boys. Why did I still hesitate, why did I not give 
my consent ? 

Was the habit of solitude so strong in the hermit 
of the new tower .!* Did she hold in such high esteem 
the opinion of the world, whose ridicule is always 


THE NEW GOVERNMENT. 


3II 

aroused by an old maid’s marriage.? Or did she 
listen to the voice in her heart, that whispered in 
tones of warning: “This is not what you need.” 
Did she feel a secret, incomprehensible protest 
against a new masculine task, while the woman was 
pleading for the rights of which she had been 
deprived. 

I requested time for consideration ; and weeks 
elapsed, during which I did not see the count again, 
weeks of indecision such as I had never experienced 
before. But at last I could delay no longer. 

The king’s birthday was approaching, on which, ac- 
cording to a ten years’ custom, a great entertainment 
was given at Reckenburg. 

All the pomp of the household was displayed on 
this occasion, even my aunt’s old fashioned jewels 
were brought out to heighten the magnificence of her 
heiress. Of course the count would be one of the in- 
vited guests. I expected the renewal of his offer. 
Reason had conquered ; I was resolved to accept it. 

Often as the third of August had been celebrated 
in this way at Reckenburg, I had never remembered, 
that long, long ago, in the grey dawn of this day, I 
had uttered an eternal farewell and seen the dream of 
my youth vanish. Now, in my fiftieth year, the third 
of August was to become the day of my betrothal. 


312 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


CHAPTER XII. 

MOTHER AND SON. 

That was a dull meal, my friends ! I broke down 
in the toast I proposed to His Majesty ; every 
complimentary speech I exchanged became entangled 
in my throat with the yes I could not utter, and yet 
did not wish to leave unspoken. It was fortunate 
that people were not in the habit of expecting any- 
thing but aristocratic dulness at the entertainments 
given at Reckenburg. 

After dinner the guests dispersed through the 
pleasure grounds. I remained alone on the terrace 
with the count. He had told me before dinner that 
his appointment had arrived, and therefore a decision 
could be delayed no longer. I had undergone the 
last struggle, bravely uttered the preliminary words 
and was just about to place my hand in his, when I 
heard a voice at my feet exclaim : “Hardine. ” 

Although very young, you were witnesses of the 
scene, my friends, and have undoubtedly often heard 
it described since ; so I need only explain the feelings 
aroused, in my own heart, which caused so much 
suspicion. 

Interrupted in the decisive moment, I looked up 
and saw a young, powerful man, with the flush of 
intoxication on his face ; at any time the most re- 


MOTHER AND SON. 


313 


pulsive spectacle I could behold, but doubly so on 
this occasion. Muttering wild, scarcely intelligible 
words, he ascended the steps, a terrible odor of bad 
liquor greeted me ; with the hand I had just stretched 
out in pledge of my betrothal, I pushed the insolent 
fellow away. He staggered, fell, and drops of blood 
on the ground induced me to look at him more 
closely. Now for the first time I noticed the dilapi- 
dated uniform, the maimed arm ; I gazed at the 
scarred features, and a terrible dread overpowered me. 
But when, suddenly sobered, he now confronted me 
with clenched hand and bold defiance, the proud 
carriage of the head, the angry light in the blue eyes 
roused a long slumbering memory; but strangely 
enough it was not at first that of the son, who had 
wished for death on the battle-field, but the father, 
who had so early found it there. Prince Augustus, 
not Augustus Muller, suddenly stood before me. 
The vision lasted only a moment. At the first words 
from the father and child I understood their singular 
mistake ; but dared I, could I explain the error 
before this gaping crowd ? Ere I had formed my re- 
solution, the man had turned to go ; I saw a livid hue 
overspread his features, saw him cling trembling to 
the arbor ; I motioned to the pastor to support him, 
the count also hurried after him in visible perplexity, 
and they soon disappeared. 

I was not in the mood to enter into any explana- 
tions with my guests ; we curtsied to each other 
afterwards in the castle, and if any went away without 
a farewell, — so much the better. That anyone 
could seriously believe the stranger’s accusations, 


314 last von RfiCKENBURO. 

never occurred to me. I sought the solitude of my 
own room. 

I was really very much agitated. As if conjured 
up by some magic spell, a long past forgotten life 
rose before me, at the very moment that I was in the 
act of disposing of the remainder. Besides, I per- 
ceived the desolate condition of the man and his child, 
the error he had made, and which his and my old 
friend had predicted ! So, after a generation, I was 
once more to thank this friend for his care. 

While I was sea^'ching among my papers for 
Augustus Muller’s baptismal certificate, I did not 
doubt my right to explain to the deluded man his 
origin. I would show him the certificate, conceal his 
father’s name as well as his mother’s fate, and when 
I had provided a suitable support for both father and 
daughter, the affair would be settled. 

I had just found the document, when the pastor 
entered with the count. The latter showed an agi- 
tation which, in the usually calm man, gave me an 
unpleasant surprise. “ He is at the inn pretending 
to be ill,” he hastily exclaimed. 

“He is ill, Herr Count,” replied the pastor, “he is 
shaking with a feverish chill.” 

“ The sickness that follows intoxication, if it is not 
delirium tremens,” retorted the count. “It is for- 
tunate that I was still one of the magistrates of the 
district and could take his papers from him. Read 
them, Fraulein von Reckenburg.” 

With these words he handed me the often men- 
tioned childish recollections of Augustus Muller, and 
while I was glancing over them, poured forth a 


MOTHER AND SON. 


315 

torrent of angry words about the slanders which had 
spread through the parish since morning and would be 
disseminated through the whole region before night. 
“ 1 11 have the vagabond put in the hospital without 
delay, he concluded, “and after he recovers, trans- 
ported beyond the frontiers. It is the shortest way 
to put a stop to the gossip. The man is mad, or a 
fraud of the first order.” 

“ He is neither,” I answered quietly, as I locked 
the papers and certificate in a drawer of my writing 
table. “Augustus Muller’s recollections are correct, 
and the conclusion he has erroneously drawn may 
be pardoned on account of his necessity. He is a 
native of Reckenburg, and it is our duty to take 
charge of him in the parish.” 

With these words I rang the bell and told the 
servant to find the family physician and see that the 
sick man was properly cared for at the inn. 

“A kindness which will bear bitter fruits,” said 
the count, in what seemed to me a scornful tone. 
“ The first of its kind, that has ever been known in 
Reckenburg.” 

The first benefit to a stranger in Reckenburg.? 
The lesson, little as it was intended in that sense, 
would have been severe, if I had ever cared for the 
reputation of a sister of charity, or at least had re- 
ceived it in cool blood. But the count’s ill-humor 
had infected me. I bore within me a sore spot, 
whose touch I had once scarcely forgiven my fii'st 
friend, and which I would never have pardoned my 
last. In order to at least have no witnesses to im- 
pending explanations, I requested the pastor to 


3I6 the last von reckenburg. 

consult with the physician and, in case he did not 
find the sick man sufficiently well cared for at the 
inn, order his removal to the castle. 

As soon as I was alone with the count, I said : 
‘‘Will you not more clearly point out the bitter 
fruits which, according to your opinion, will grow 
out of the care of a stranger ? ” 

“Yes, but what stranger.^” cried the count, shrug- 
ging his shoulders. “ After his public accusation 
and the confession you have just made — ” 

“You mean the confession of having placed an 
orphaned child in an institution ? ” I asked. 

“ Have you any testimony to prove the parentage 
of this child } ” replied the count. 

“ I think my word is enough,” I replied, as I 
crushed the baptismal certificate, which I still held in 
my hand. 

“Then speak that word. Mention the parents’ 
names, which seem to be so intentionally concealed 
in the certificate of the institution.” 

“And if I desired to continue to conceal them.^” 

“ Then you would have to answer for the neglect 
of a hitherto stainless reputation.” 

Until then I had maintained my self-command; 
now I could no longer control myself. “Do you 
mean to say that I placed my own child — ” 

“/ have nothing to do with the matter,” inter- 
rupted the count, who was now as calm as I was 
agitated. “ The world judges from appearances, and 
it is incumbent upon me, as a magistrate and your 
friend, to oppose these appearances. So I ask once 
more ; can, will you give me any proofs of this man’s 
origin } ” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


317 


** No ! said I, '' whether I can not, or will not, is 
of no consequence. I need no friends who require a 
stranger’s testimony in behalf of my reputation, and 
I expect the magistrate to respect the guest of my 
house.” 

With these words I left him. I knew that I had 
closed the open doors of my bridal hall, and felt as if 
a weight had fallen from my heart. 

Nevertheless, I was trembling with secret indigna- 
tion. Dorothee was living, and I had no right to 
disclose her secret. Even if she had desired to 
reveal it for my justification, I would have checked 
the words on her lips. Passion had suddenly en- 
lightened my understanding ; not /, but the mother 
had the right to decide the fate of her son. 

That very night I set out with post horses for 
Berlin. I travelled without servants, because both 
for my own sake and that of the persons to whom I 
was hastening, I objected to have any watch kept on 
my movements. 

Evening was closing in when I reached the goal of 
my journey, and without going to a hotel, went on 
foot to Siegmund Faber’s house, to which every 
child could direct me. If I succeeded in speaking to 
Dorothee that evening alone, my task would be per- 
formed and I could go back to Reckenburg unseen 
the same night. The sick man’s condition made me 
anxious. The physician, to whom I had spoken of 
my intended journey, and who had discouraged his 
removal to the castle, had declared his disease to be 
inflammation of the lungs, caused by an imperfectly 
healed wound in the breast, and which his habit of 


3I8 the last von reckenburg. 

indulging in strong drinks rendered doubly perilous. 
I, too, after so long an interval of repose, again ex- 
pected a sort of crisis in my life, which I wished at 
any rate to await at my post. 

When we read such a story of life, in which only 
the principal events, following each other in rapid 
succession, are described at length, while the inter- 
mediate incidents, the quiet, transforming labor of 
time are merely superficially mentioned, we easily 
imagine the personages unchanged in regard to the 
secret relations in which they stood towards each 
other in the last scene. And so you, young, im- 
petuous people, probably suppose that I went to 
meet these old acquaintances with the old passionate 
feelings, or the throbbing heart of guilt. But twenty- 
seven years had elapsed since I had heard of Doro- 
thee’s marriage, how many a life is completed in that 
period, from the cradle to the grave ! And though 
during this time I could have mentioned no special 
crisis in my nature ; a totally different position in 
life, a great epoch in the world’s history, important 
considerations and a wide sphere of action had made 
me a totally different person, the friends of former 
days strangers. Now I could have confronted Sieg- 
mund Faber without embarrassment, and calmly dis- 
cussed the condition of affairs with Dorothee, with 
due consideration for her temperament and position. 
Nay, as I walked through the streets in the dusk of 
evening, I repeatedly felt a doubt whether my first 
decision in regard to her son’s fate had been the 
right one, whether the man supposed to be dead 
ought not to have remained dead to her } 


MOTHER AND SON. 


319 


But anger had urged me to this awaking of the 
mother’s heart, and we are so disposed to see a dispen- 
sation of Providence behind these personal inspira- 
tions. At any rate I could try whether she was in 
the mood for my message, and further proceedings 
were wholly under my control. 

As I approached the Faber house, I found the 
pavement covered with straw, and perceived that the 
passers by collected in groups, or gazed anxiously at 
the dimly lighted windows on the second floor. I 
also caught a few disconnected remarks. Out of 
this window ! — The husband, the poor husband ! ” 

The door of the house was unlocked, the staircase 
empty, but covered with a thick carpet ; all was still. 
At the entrance stood a servant, and an anxious mov- 
ing to and fro was visible in the corridor. 

‘‘ She is ill and can see no one,” was the reply to 
my inquiry for the Frau Geheimerathin. 

Not even an old acquaintance, who is passing 
through the city } ” 

No one.” 

Nor tomorrow ” 

“ Nor tomorrow either,” replied the servant, but 
offered to inform the Herr Geheimerath of my 
presence. 

I hesitated a moment. The object of my journey 
had failed, but I was anxious to learn further par- 
ticulars about the condition of the invalid, which the 
evidently excited servant either could not or would 
not give. I decided, however, not to disturb his 
master so late, but come early the next morning to 
make my inquiries, gave the man my card and was 


320 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

in the act of going away, when a portiere opposite to 
me was drawn aside and Siegmund Faber hastily ap- 
proached. 

I had not seen him for thirty-five years, and a 
strange expression of anxiety and grief rested upon 
his features ; yet, even in any other place, I should 
have known him at the first glance. His outstretched 
hand also showed that he had instantly recognized 
in the matron, who stood before him, the girl of 
fifteen. Time had made no great changes either in 
him or me ; a privilege of those whose hearts have 
little life. 

Obeying his mute sign, I followed him into his 
own room. “ A sorrowful hour for you to enter my 
house for the first time, Fraulein Hardine!” he said, 
pressing my hand with deep emotion. 

“ Do you still hope, Faber I asked, already hope- 
less myself. 

“Hope.?” he replied; “yes, I hope, but not for 
life,” and when I softly uttered the words “ brain 
fever,” answered : “ If it were, you would find me less 
hopeless. No, it is no fever — ” 

I interrupted his explanation by a hasty gesture ; 
the horror in his eyes had confirmed my suspicion. I 
thought of the hour, when Dorothee had intimated 
this result. We stood in silence for a time, listening 
to the piercing cries that issued from the adjoining 
room. “ Do I disturb you .? ” I asked at last. 

“ Unfortunately, no ! ” he replied. “ I have no rest 
outside, and in that chamber, which I would not will- 
ingly leave day or night, I can only remain while un- 
seen. My unfortunate wife apparently sees in me 


MOTHER AND SON. 


321 


only the doctor she always feared, not the inconsolable 
husband, from whom she affectionately concealed 
her sufferings till they reached the climax.” 

“ And when did the climax occur ? ” I asked. 

Yesterday,” he replied. “The malady is an in- 
sidious, malignant one, which perhaps commenced 
before our marriage. All in all, it is a mystery.” 

I cast down my eyes and remained silent. I a/one 
could have given him the clue to the mystery. 

He asked me to sit down, took a chair beside me, 
and described the convulsions, which had attacked 
the blooming creature at intervals ever since her wed- 
ding day. “Sometimes,” said he, “I could see the 
attack coming on for hours. She was troubled, rest- 
less, often approached me with her hands clasped on 
her breast, a gesture by which when a child she had 
made her requests so irresistible ; she looked at me 
with a heart-rending glance, tried to speak, and 
struggled until she became convulsed and sank, 
though without losing consciousness, on the floor. 
As this condition, however, occurred very rarely 
and passed away quickly, and did not disturb her 
general health, I supposed it to be one of those in- 
comprehensible nervous affections to which women 
are subject. I attributed it to the suspense and 
anxiety of the long years of betrothal, the too sudden 
change of all the relations of life, among which she 
could only regain her usual composure by degrees. I 
fell into the error of many physicians, who judge of 
the physical life of their relatives according to the 
critical experiences of their profession, and the soul 
life according to their own needs. Because, after a 


322 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

day of toil, a pause of rest was beneficial to me; be- 
cause I wanted nothings except to see the lovely 
creature, still and bright as a sunbeam, relieving the 
shadows of my professional life ; in my selfish comfort 
I overlooked the unchanging monotony of her exis- 
tence, forgot the contradiction between it and her im- 
pulsive nature, forgot it the more easily as she herself 
never complained, never asked for anything, always 
said that she was well, and no trace of failing health 
belied her words. She was and remained a blooming, 
lovely child, Fraulein Hardine, an angel of humility; 
Dorothee, my gift of God, my sunbeam ! ” 

He hid his face in his hands, and I heard a convul- 
sive sob ; for a long time he was unable to speak, and 
when he at last began again it was rather to himself 
than to me. When nature is repressed, she always 
revenges herself — always — if I had made her travel, 
sought amusements and society for her — procured 
light and air amid the wilderness of the city ; I have 
done nothingy nothing for her ; I refreshed myself 
with the sight of her, egotist that I was, and am now 
so cruelly punished ! ” 

A new pause ensued. After he had collected his 
thoughts, he hastily continued in an almost business 
like tone. “ Her sufferings increased during the ex- 
citing events of the autumn of 1806. When, on my 
return from the army, I unexpectedly entered her 
presence, for several minutes I embraced a senseless 
body. Since that time attacks have returned more 
frequently, and lasted longer, one might say they in- 
creased with the tortures and humiliations of our 
native land. In the summer of 1809, when blow after 


MOTHER AND SON. 


323 

blow followed each other in the defeat of Schill and 
Brunswick, and the humiliation of Austria, they 
seemed to reach their climax. Then a pause ensued ; 
the stillness of resignation. I had followed the army, 
and afterwards heard for the first time from others — 
never from herself — that she had joined the band of 
women who, after the battles, nursed the wounded 
in the hospitals. The poor, delicate child, who could 
never see a drop of blood, never even hear of a 
a wound ! Day after day she entered their places of 
suffering, went from bed to bed, gazed anxiously into 
the face of every patient, as if she were seeking some 
one who was not to be found, wished to save some 
one who was not to be saved, and then sank down 
utterly crushed at the door, only to renew the tortur- 
ing quest the following day. 

Of course, if I had been on the spot, I should have 
prevented this useless torture, but when at the 
end of a year I returned from France, I found the 
hospital empty and Dorothee almost unchanged. 
Not until the battles of Ligny and Waterloo — I was 
again with Bliicher’s army — an event is said to have 
occurred, which ought to have prepared me for that 
which happened to-day. I did not witness it, and con- 
soled myself with the thought that the impressionable 
childish nature, her idiosyncrasy against everything 
that is called death and suffering, had caused this 
powerful emotion. Her present condition, which has 
been occasioned by no external event, mocks this 
consolation. I stand like a fool before this mystery 
of nature. 

You may suppose, Fraulein Hardine, that where 


324 the last von reckenburg. 

the happiness of my whole life was at stake, I did not 
trust to my own judgment alone. I obtained the ad- 
vice of all my colleagues far and near. But Dorothee 
rebelled against all medical treatment with a vehe- 
mence that was entirely unlike her usual manner and 
increased the violence of her attacks ; and no one 
had any judicious method to propose. She herself 
declared that she was perfectly well, and she seemed 
to be so. I heard on all sides the supposition that it 
was mere hypochondria. At the utmost her child- 
less state was mentioned as the cause of momentary 
physical or mental disturbance. But I am too ex- 
perienced a physician to believe in such suppositions. 
Dorothee was too delicate for a martyrdom, to which 
my mother succumbed in giving me birth, and let me 
add, Fraulein Harding, Dorothee was too much of a 
child for the education of children, in which the 
father could be of so little assistance to her. She has 
never shown any maternal longings ; nay I saw her 
shudder, when on one of our rare walks through the city 
we once met a party of orphan boys. When after the 
year 1806 — not on my account, but hers — I pro- 
posed to adopt a soldier’s orphan, an attack of convul- 
sions was her reply, and when speech returned she 
said with a gesture of the most imploring entreaty, 
“ Pray, pray — don’t.” 

“We become accustomed to such things, Fraulein 
Hardine. My professional life grew more and more 
absorbing. I was often away on journeys and, when 
in Berlin, frequently remained in the house only a 
few minutes a day. So I scarcely noticed that 
she became more and more quiet year by year, that 


MOTHER AND SON. 


325 


days elapsed without hearing a sound from her lips. 
People naturally grow more silent with age, and what 
did we have to tell each other ? She experienced too 
little and I too much, but not the events which are 
suitable to discuss in the household. The attacks 
gradually ceased, and I felt relieved — until perhaps 
about three months ago. 

“ Then I could no longer conceal from myself that 
the silent apathy had changed into strange agitation. 
She paced up and down her room all day and at night 
sat erect in her bed with eyes wide open, or I found 
her even then wandering softly to and fro. If I told 
her to go to bed, she obeyed, lay down and pretended 
to be asleep. But as soon as I returned to my room 
and she fancied herself unobserved, she again rose 
and began her wanderings anew. She did not sleep, 
asked no questions, answered only by mute, but per- 
fectly intelligible gestures ; and only took necessary 
food when it was forced upon her. Oh ! that the 
poor brain had gently worn out in this way, but since 
yesterday — ” 

** Since yesterday ” I asked eagerly. 

A piercing shriek from the next room interrupted 
him. He started up and listened at the half-open 
door. “Who can understand, Fraulein Hardine,” 
said he, when everything had grown quiet within, 
“ who can endure to see the most peaceful creature 
on earth die suffering the tortures of a murderess, be 
obliged to restrain her by force from laying violent 
hands upon herself — Oh, God! Oh, God! Yesterday 
at twilight, one unguarded moment, and — she was — ” 

He could say no more, and I, too, stood shivering 


326 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

with horror. For months, during which the son had 
wandered through the land, seeking a mother, and 
yesterday, yesterday when in rage he stretched out 
his hand towards another — can we believe in such 
sympathies, in an electric communication between 
kindred blood 

“ Can I see her } ” I asked the unhappy man, after 
a long silence. 

‘‘She would not recognize, scarcely notice you. 
But you, how could you endure the sight ? Fraulein 
Hardine — she is raving!” 

“ Take me to her,” I said moving forward. At the 
door I paused. “ One question more : is it a form- 
less sorrow, or — ” 

“ It is a fixed idea,” replied Faber in a whisper, 
“the wildest — or could it spring from repressed 
maternal affection — have I been deluded a second 
time — ? But not a new-born infant, as is a common 
idea of lunatics ; no, she raves about a boy, an 
orphan boy, whom she, she herself, has murdered. 
About every fifteen minutes a pause ensues ; then 
she makes a ball of pillows and handkerchiefs, presses 
it to her heart and caresses it as a mother does her 
child, but soon with the energy of madness tears it 
into pieces, hurls it from her, shrieks, sees herself — 
or whom.'* — surrounded by a crowd of friends she 
calls “the blacks,” and can only be prevented by 
force from seeking release from this torture by 
violence. And yet, yet, would you believe it, Fraulein 
Hardine ? The angelic nature is not conquered, 
eyen in this extremity. She would fain conceal her 
sufferings from her inconsolable husband. ‘Hush! 


MOTHER AND SON. 


327 


hush ! ’ she whispers, whenever I approach. But as 
the agony is stronger than her will, she always 
becomes more restless, writhes, tosses, and moans, 
until I go away and she draws a long breath as if 
relieved, and soon returns again to her fancy about 
the murdered boy.” 

We entered the sick room. It was brightly lighted, 
for the threatening spectres increased in the darkness. 
Two strong nurses were in attendance. Dorothee 
was sitting upright in bed, pushing away with one 
hand a soothing potion, while with the other she 
tore off the ice they were trying to bind on her head. 
The once golden hair hung over her shoulders like a 
veil of silver, bestrewed with melted drops of ice, her 
face looked like a snow-white flower, and her dilated 
eyes glittered with a restless light. The unfortunate 
woman, in her fiftieth year, in the bonds of madness, 
at the portal of the grave, was still beautiful ; nay, it 
seemed to me I had never seen her look more beauti- 
ful than in this excitement. 

I signed to the nurses to cease their fruitless 
efforts ; they drew back, and I sat down on a chair 
beside the bed. Siegmund Faber listened intently 
at the door, there was not a sound in the room. 

For a long time she did not notice me ; it was one 
of her quiet moments ; she busily wrapped the 
bandages of ice she had torn from her head in a 
towel and pressed the bundle to her heart. “ Oh ! 
oh ! how cold ! ” she murmured shivering, “ how cold !” 
I bent over her, took both her hands and fixed my 
eyes steadily on hers. “ Do you know me, Dorothee ? ” 
I asked. 


328 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

Strange ! She had scarcely heard my voice and 
looked at me a moment, when she exclaimed, Har- 
dine, Fraulein Hardine ! ” 

The husband could not repress an exclamation of 
surprise. Dorothee listened intently. “ Hush, 
hush ! ” she whispered, hiding the bundle under her 
quilt. But as everything remained quiet, she drew 
it out again, pressed my hand upon it, and said : 
“ Feel how cold it is, Fraulein Hardine. It is dead, 
oh ! so cold, so cold, the poor child, dead ! ” 

** This is no child, Dorothee,” said I, “ it is a cold 
stone, which has long rested on your heart. I will 
take it from you. There, now it is gone, now you 
will feel easier, Dorothee.” 

She willingly allowed me to take the bundle, but 
still moaned : Dead, dead, poor child, dead ! ” I 
hesitated a moment, then in spite of the listener, 
dared every danger. I pressed the moaning mother’s 
hand to my heart, and said, raising my voice : “The 
child is not dead, Dorothee. God is the Father of 
the fatherless, the boy lives.” 

“He lives, he lives!” she shrieked. “Who says 
he lives ? Who has seen him alive ? ” 

“ Hardine says so,” I replied. “ Hardine has seen 
him. The boy is alive.” 

“ He lives, he lives ! ” she exclaimed. “ Hardine 
says so, Hardine never tells a lie, never! Hardine 
has seen him. He lives ! Where, where ? Take me 
to him, Hardine ! ” 

“Yes, I will take you to him, Dorothee. I will 
take you with me to Reckenburg. Do you know ? 
To Reckenburg, Dorothee — ” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


329 


She reflected a moment, rubbed her forehead, and 
murmured, “ Reckenburg ! Reckenburg ! ” At last 
she obtained the clue. “ In Reckenburg, yes, in 
Reckenburg, that was it. Not in the orphan asylum. 
He lives in Reckenburg. Fraulein Hardine has seen 
him. Fraulein Hardine will take me with her to 
Reckenburg; Fraulein Hardine keeps her word!” 
She clapped her hands like a child. “ To Recken- 
burg ! ” she excalimed exultantly, ‘‘ come, Fraulein 
Hardine.” 

“ I will take you to Reckenburg with me,” I said, 
“ but not now, you must get well first, dear Dorothee.” 

“ I am perfectly well,” she replied, attempting to 
leave her bed. 

I was obliged to prevent this by force. “ You are 
ill, Dorothee,” I said positively, “but you will soon 
be well, if you will obey me. Take these drops ; 
lie down quietly, close your eyes, and go to sleep. 
Then you shall go with me to Reckenburg.” 

“I will obey you, Fraulein Hardine,” she said and 
without resistance took the medicine she had so 
violently refused to swallow a short time before. 
But she suddenly grew restless again, gazed anxiously 
around the room, and whispered : “ He ! He I If he 
should come now I If he should notice I He will not 
let me go, Fraulein Hardine I ” 

“ Be calm ; I will watch beside you,” I answered 
aloud. “ And he will let you go with me, for he 
loves you, Dorothee.” 

“Fraulein Hardine will watch beside me,” she 
murmured, her lids already closing drowsily, and 
then with the docility of a child, allowed me to dry 


330 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

her wet hair, and wrap the clothes closely around 
her. Both hands were clasped in mine ; she looked 
up several times, but when she saw me sitting 
quietly beside the bed, with my eyes fixed upon her, 
gently fell asleep. 

After a time I noiselessly rose and approached 
the man who, unobserved, had witnessed this scene. 
Tears, perhaps the first he had ever shed, were stream- 
ing down his cheeks. He pressed both my hands to 
his heart. “ The blessing of one hour’s rest,” said 
he. What a magic there is in the memories of 
childhood, the people whom we first knew. Oh ! sel- 
fish, blinded man, who only counted by the pendulum 
of the hour. If I had taken her to you years, even 
months ago — ” 

“And if it should not be too late even now, my 
friend ” I asked. 

But he shook his head and replied : “ It is too 
late.” 

I promised him to watch with Dorothee through the 
night, and begged him to seek for a few hours the 
rest he so greatly needed. 

“ I, too, will obey you,” he said, and with a sorrowful 
glance at the sleeper went to his own room. Every 
fifteen minutes, however, he came to the doorway 
until at last, resolving that he wotild sleep, a few 
hours undisturbed repose restored his exhausted 
strength. 

I sat alone with the invalid, holding her hands in 
mine, and God only knows in what an agitated mood ! 
What a sarcasm was contained in the happy delusion 
of the deceived husband ! What a punishment in the 


MOTHER AND SON. 


331 


horrible fancy of the deceiving wife ! But she lay 
so calmly, breathed so quietly ; was it really too late 
to have truth and peace reign in the place of error? 

No, I still hoped, hoped when I rose at dawn to put 
out the lamp and draw back the window curtains. 
But when at the end of a few minutes I returned to 
my post, I perceived the sudden, indescribable change, 
that destroys every hope. 

I would have called Siegmund Faber for a last 
farewell, but Dorothee now raised her eyes, no longer 
glittering with the light of madness, but with the old 
inquiring expression they had had in the days of her 
innocent childhood. She groped for my hand and 
whispered : Do you believe that God is merciful, 
Hardine ?” 

‘‘I do, Dorothee,” I answered firmly. 

‘‘ Even to me, who can no longer dare to call Him 
Father \ ” 

To every weak, erring creature, who longs for His 
fatherly love.” 

‘‘ And he is alive, you said he is alive ? ” 

'‘He is alive, and I will keep my eyes upon him 
and tell him that a loving mother is waiting for his 
coming in the Father’s kingdom.” 

I had scarcely uttered these words and Dorothee, 
with her last strength, pressed her lips to my hand, 
when Siegmund Faber entered the room and, with a 
cry of agony, threw himself on his knees beside the 
death-bed. She opened her glazing eyes once more, 
a last tremor shook the stiffening limbs. “ Faber ! ” 
she gasped. Mercy, Faber ! Oh ! Lord, my Saviour, 
mercy !” 


332 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


All was over. 

I went away unobserved. But when, at the end of 
several hours, I returned to take a last farewell of my 
friend, I found the husband still in the same spot, 
clasping the dead form, which to the last he had 
called his child, never once his wife. But he com- 
posed himself as soon as he saw me, and after I had 
taken a long look at the woman who was still so beau- 
tiful, even in death, accompanied me out of the room. 

'‘So long as I live, Fraulein Hardine,” said he, “ I 
shall thank you for this peaceful end. She was the 
joy of my life, my whole happiness ! ” 

I parted from Siegmund Faber with the resolve to 
keep the memory of his sunbeam pure from every 
stain. 

My soul was filled with the awful picture of offended 
nature revenging itself, but also — I can see your tears 
flow, my child — but also of a faith, whose strength I 
have never seen surpassed on any death-bed. She 
had perceived the sin against the eternal order of 
God and atoned for it here below with all the tortures 
a human heart can feel ; delusions had fled, with the 
prayer which she had on her lips in dying she com- 
menced the new life, and holding her recovered son 
by the hand, could once more venture to say father. 

In this mood it seemed an incident rich in consola- 
tion that, as soon as I returned to Reckenburg, I was 
summoned to another death-bed, an end as bright and 
composed as the brave heart had ever desired. 

“ Fraulein Hardine,” cried Augustus Muller, you 
are not my mother, I know it now, for death makes 
everything clear. Forgive me the disgrace my folly 
has brought upon you.” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


333 


'^You were seeking a mother and erred in good 
faith. You did not offend me, Augustus,” I an- 
swered frankly, holding out my hand to him. 

He pressed it firmly, lay for some time absorbed in 
thought, and then said: “One thing more, Fraulein 
Hardine ; that fair woman with the yellow hair, whom 
I saw beside your father’s corpse, is she — ? ” 

“ She was your mother, Augustus. She has gone 
before you in love. But I will provide for your 
daughter in her place.” 


334 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 

Yes, our brave soldier is dead ! Three days after 
the hour when, intoxicated with hope, he recognized 
Nurse Justine’s house, he departed this life, and it 
was fortunate for him, we exclaim. We would not 
have grudged him a death blow from a Turkish 
sabre ; but ten years of peace had consumed his 
vitality. Now he died quickly as he had lived, well 
cared for, on his native soil, and his glazing eyes 
rested on the orphaned child, whom Fraulein Hardine 
took to her home. Augustus Muller died more hap- 
pily than his brave Lisette had anticipated on her 
death-bed. 

And three days later we saw Fraulein Hardine fol- 
low his coffin, as sole mourner, to the resting place 
which had been prepared for him by the side of the 
most faithful servant. This was a last honor which 
the mistress of the castle showed to each native of her 
parish, and we, who have read her confession, know 
what memories made it a duty, but her contempora- 
ries, who will first learn the truth from these pages, 
cried in chorus : “ A stranger, a beggarly idler ! The 
man who has spread the most shameful rumors about 
her.?” 

So it was Fraulein Hardine’s own acts and silence, 
which supported these rumors in such a way that her 
fair name was permanently blackened. We will not 
pause to relate how blank amazement was followed by 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 


335 


the most contemptible prying, how suppressed envy 
triumphed, anger, nay revolt against such long years 
of hypocrisy was openly displayed. The house, ad- 
mittance to which had been regarded as a great 
honor, found itself shunned like one where a conta- 
gious disease has broken out ; the proud edifice of 
right and honor seemed shaken to its foundations ; no 
hand was raised to support it, since even the count 
had given up his relations with Reckenburg and all 
future prospects, and, silently, it is true, but in a man- 
ner that spoke volumes to the eager watchers, hurried 
to his distant post. 

Who has not seen a tottering power abandoned in 
a similar manner Yet the noisy zeal that attended 
this catastrophe could not be understood, if the time 
at which it occured were forgotten. The excessive 
strain of all the vital energies in danger and conflict 
had for ten years subsided into apathetic quiet ; every 
one obeyed the need of repose by restoring order and 
repairing damages within a limited circle. All desire 
to enter a wider sphere was repulsed, the interest of 
the state, even the memory of our recent triumphs, 
seemed forgotten. With patriarchal ease patriarchal 
narrow mindedness and love of gossip spread through 
the country. A less remarkable event than the fall 
of Fraulein Hardine’s crown of honor, would, at such 
a period, have been treated as an affair of greater 
moment, than the loss of a monarch’s diadem at 
another epoch. 

Did FrMein Hardine notice this fall Did she 
heed it ? She gave no sign, but quietly attended to 
her daily occupations as before, and did not hesitate to 


336 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


draw the doubtful creature she had taken home more 
and more into her society. Under all the circumstan- 
ces, she could have adopted no course which would 
have paved the way to milder feelings more quickly 
than this proud indifference. But we, whom she called 
hers, we people of Reckenburg did not trouble our- 
selves at all about the gossip. We neither believed 
nor doubted it. Each individual attended to his own 
affairs, as Fraulein Hardine had taught us. 

Yet the most violent storm passes away, and even 
the hurricane at Reckenburg subsided ; not quite so 
suddenly as it had burst forth, but quietly and slowly, 
after the manner of German tempests. The hand 
which has a gift like Reckenburg to bestow, retains 
its attractions, her equals in rank remembered their 
former hopes, her inferiors possible . favors. Soon 
every one only longed for an occasion to publicly 
deny what was secretly doubted by no one. This 
occasion, however, was not long delayed, and it was 
the place from which all the help is expected in our 
dear native land, the highest of all, to which Fraulein 
Hardine owed the preservation of her crown of honor. 
She received the diploma of canoness in the most 
aristocratic chapter in the kingdom, and with it the 
prerogatives of a married lady. She made no use of 
this position, called herself and continued to be called 
Fraulein von Reckenburg. It was said that she had 
gratefully declined the offer of quartering her coat of 
arms with the counts’ coronet. She seemed to be de- 
termined to go down to her grave as Fraulein von 
Reckenburg. The royal favor, however, was the 
signal to doubt or generously cover the slander. 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 337 

A brave veteran of the war of freedom, attacked by 
a sudden feverish delirium, had found at Reckenburg 
a resting place and an honorable grave, his helpless 
orphan a generous support. Woe betide him who, a 
year after the fatal banquet on the royal birthday, had 
ventured to utter any other version aloud ! Neither 
this year nor ever after did Fraulein Hardine cele- 
brate the 3d of August with a patriotic entertainment 
but, if she had done so, she would have missed no 
invited guest from her table. 

And guests arrived uninvited. Visitors seeking 
counsel, offering homage, cherishing hopes of gain 
appeared with an innocent smile upon their lips, as if 
they had never held aloof, and were received as if their 
absence had never been noticed. Avoidance seemed 
forgotten on both sides ; the old order of things at 
Reckenburg was restored, only that the interest of 
the community was more and more divided between 
Hardine senior and the little namesake growing up at 
her side. 

For how the first visitors stared in amazement, to 
behold in the neglected vagabond, after the lapse of 
a year, as healthy and pretty a child as could be 
found. Surely Fraulein Hardine was fortunate in 
everything she undertook. Even her sorrowful protege 
had prospered in the air of the new tower and on the 
fields, where she had become their mistress’ daily com- 
panion. People were expecting an act of adoption, 
and already numbered the youths of noble birth, who 
might, without reluctance, receive the inheritance of 
Reckenburg from the hand of the ex-sutler’s daughter. 
And the list was a long one. 


338 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

But nothing that was expected happened. Frau- 
lein Hardine took no steps to raise the little plebeian 
to her own rank. She did not even make her will. 
Her foster-child still remained Hardine Muller. 

Besides, she was by no means educated as would 
have beseemed an heiress of Reckenburg, placed in 
charge of no boarding school, no learned tutor, no 
foreign governesses. The child’s first teacher. Pastor 
Nordheim, was also her last ; and of all the fashion- 
able accomplishments of the day, only music was 
taught the talented girl by a competent master in the 
neighborhood. For the rest, she soon took charge of 
the domestic affairs of the household, and seemed to 
have the same taste for them as her patroness felt in 
the management of the outdoor business. 

To be sure this education did not indicate any very 
ambitious plans for the mysterious orphan. But who 
could say that Fraulein Hardine, who in so many re- 
spects ventured to row against the stream, would 
have given her own daughter or granddaughter a 
more comprehensive education, that the standard of 
her own knowledge would not have seemed to her 
enough for the management of a large property ? 

To these well-founded doubts was added the per- 
ception of a gradual change in the mode of life at 
Reckenburg, so far as household affairs were con- 
cerned. This course was perfectly natural for one 
who did nothing by halves, like our Fraulein Har- 
dine. For one person draws others after, and no one 
more than a child. The little orphan needed atten- 
dance, instruction, and society ; she required rooms 
to live in, to play in, to see her little companions, who 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 339 

were not slow in coming. A pleasant room is wanted 
for a child’s toys, and afterwards for a young girl’s 
treasures ; guest chambers and sitting-rooms must 
be fitted up. The new tower was too narrow and 
plain for more than one ; the adjoining halls were too 
spacious and magnificent for anything less than a 
large assembly. So partitions were put up*; stoves 
appeared by the marble chimney pieces ; soft carpets 
covered the cold mosaic floors ; comfortable cushioned 
furniture took the place of the hard gilt chairs ; fra- 
grant flowers that of the mouldering potpourris and 
nodding Chinese mandarins on the pier tables. Music 
and singing echoed through the long-silent palace, 
and modern table furniture, instead of the quaint 
silver and porcelain utensils, covered the well-spread 
board. 

And the garden underwent the same transforma- 
tion as the house. All the lifeless inhabitants of 
Olympus, from which little Hardine had shrunk in 
terror, were removed without mercy ; the triangles 
and squares, at which she had laughed when they 
were called trees, made way for untrimmed shrubs 
and bushes ; the stiff hedges and glass-bordered 
flower-beds, which interfered with the children’s play- 
ground, disappeared, and broad lawns took their 
places on both sides of the stately avenue. Young 
girls love flowers, and therefore luxuriant blossoms 
extended to the edge of the forest ; nurseries of fruit 
trees, beds of vegetables, and hot-houses surrounded 
the castle, for the hospitable house needed the dain- 
ties, which the lonely mistress had not missed. Seats 
at all the pleasant places invited passers-by to repose ; 


340 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

a fountain in the centre of the terrace dispensed in 
cooling spray the water which the monsters in the 
pleasure gardens had distributed in countless tiny 
threads, and the singing birds of the forest fluttered 
to the edge of the basin, where childish hands strewed 
food. All in all, our Reckenburg, without denying 
its origin, had in the course of time acquired a homely 
comfort ; and how could a needy person have been 
turned from its threshold without food and care, 
when little Hardine uttered in his behalf her ‘‘please, 
please.” Kind-hearted children are so fond of giving, 
and little Hardine was a kind-hearted child. When, 
during the first few years, the cholera demanded 
numerous victims throughout the country, and mak- 
ing one of its cat-like leaps, spared only Reckenburg, 
Fraulein Hardine erected a splendid' orphan asylum, 
and on the day of her foster-daughter’s confirmation, 
fifty little fatherless and motherless girls were re- 
ceived into it. 

So little Hardine had now become a grown young 
lady, and an alternate intercourse with city and coun- 
try had been established and extended even to circles 
which formerly had not been numbered among the 
society of Reckenburg ; within this sphere, however, 
since the more agitating times that followed the days 
of July, opinions have been uttered to which in for- 
mer years Fraulein Hardine would hardly have lis- 
tened. In short, wherever we look, since the appear- 
ance of the little beggar child, the old has gradually 
become new, the antiquated young again. 

So we no longer saw the gilt coach with the ancient 
grays, but a light carriage with a pair of fast horses 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 


341 


conveyed the mistress of the castle and her guests to 
and from the nearest station ; and active young ser- 
vants took the place of the powdered footmen in the 
rejuvenated household. The periodical entertain- 
ments ceased, but in the castle and village the youths 
and maidens sang and danced around the May-pole 
and under the harvest wreath ; the tavern held out 
its sign invitingly, the balls rolled, the mugs of beer 
clinked, though in moderation ; we were still a re- 
spectable colony, but have become very different 
people from those who gazed at the wandering soldier 
with astonished eyes and did not vouchsafe a glance 
at the magnificent cavalcade. The peasants of Reck- 
enburg were well entertained ; but an all-powerful 
spell lured guests to the magnificent apartments of 
the castle, for the elder lady smiled graciously and 
the younger one was beautiful. 

Though the young girl was still called plain 
Hardine Muller, she occupied a position which would 
have been equally suitable for the petted companion 
or the relative of an aristocratic family. Her educa- 
tion and mode of employing her time fitted her for 
the family life of a household in the middle ranks of 
society, while her grace and ease of manner rendered 
her by no means beneath the dignity of a man of 
rank. But precisely because she seemed adapted 
for such different positions, the hopes of each class 
were restrained. Suitors of plebeian birth were re- 
pelled by the title of the aristocratic foster-mother ; 
the aristocrats shrank from the young girl’s plebeian 
origin, unless her future prospects were assured. 
For a time a marriage was expected between her and 


342 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


the count’s eldest son, a handsome, gay cavalier. 
But the young gentleman thought otherwise, and 
chose a lady who possessed countless ancestors, and 
though she did not, like little Hardine, have two 
birds in the bush, held one firmly in her hand. It 
was the doubt concerning the inheritance of Reck- 
enburg, that kept both classes of suitors aloof, and so 
we must unfortunately admit the fact, that the 
charming, much admired little Hardine reached her 
twentieth year without being able to boast of a 
single offer of marriage. 

All these doubts regarding suitors, however, found 
a surprising solution when, in midsummer, just 
twelve years after the orphan had found a home at 
Reckenburg, Fraulein Hardine announced the be- 
trothal of her foster daughter. The chosen husband 
was the first companion of her childhood, the school 
boy whose acquaintance we have already made, but 
who did not take the hereditary ecclesiastical office 
at Reckenburg, and after his father’s death, which had 
occurred a few years before, exchanged the profes- 
sion of a lawyer to study that of agriculture under 
Fraulein Hardine’s eyes, and now managed the estates 
of Reckenburg as her assistant. 

Many a secret hope was destroyed by this mar- 
riage, many a new one kindled. It was supposed to 
be Fraulein Hardine’s denial of any intention of 
adoption. Never could this prototype of a noble 
lady bestow the family seat of her ancestors, the in- 
heritance which was to perpetuate their name through 
future generations, upon a man who received a salary 
from her as an employee. Every one who had noble 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 343 

blood in his veins applauded the old Baroness von 
Reckenburg. 

In a few weeks Ludwig Nordheim and Hardine 
Muller became man and wife. But the anxious ex- 
pectation increased when, on the day after the mar- 
riage, the news spread abroad that Fraulein von 
Reckenburg had made a will. She had prepared it 
without the assistance of any notary, and strictly for- 
bade any legal interference with the persons manag- 
ing her property at the time of her death until, after 
an interval of thirty days, it was opened. The testator 
was perfectly sound in mind and body, not a hair on her 
head had turned grey, the proud neck was not bowed 
a single inch. She was sixty years old, perhaps more, 
but she seemed likely to live to be a hundred. 

Many of our contemporaries will therefore remember 
the universal surprise, nay stupor — the editor’s hand 
trembles even now as he reaches this crisis — when on 
the 2 1 St of September 1837 the news of the death of the 
last von Reckenburg spread through the country like 
wild fire. Much as they had held aloof from any 
kindly intercourse beyond their own estates, the eyes 
and thoughts of high and low for generations had 
been fixed with too eager and manifold an interest 
upon the two eccentric mistresses of the castle, not 
to feel touched, as if by some personal calamity, when 
the place they had occupied was now suddenly left 
vacant. Who would fill this place ? Individuals, as 
well as corporations, anxiously sought for the slightest 
clue that could guide them to the fountain of bless- 
ing. Every one saw himself justified in cherishing a 
hope, the more so as no one was entitled to a claim. 


344 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


and only good fortune or favor could cast a great 
prize into his hand. 

But fortune hunters were not the only persons con- 
cerned. A large community had lost a mistress who 
had made its prosperity the task of a long life ; a vast 
number of employees the most just of rulers ; and 
even poverty a kind patroness, since by the hand of a 
beggar’s child the virtue of charity had become a 
habit at Reckenburg, so it is not too much to say, 
that thousands looked forward with anxious hearts to 
the hour which was to decide the choice of the heir 
of Reckenburg. 

But no one felt this anxiety more keenly than the 
young pair whose happiness had been so sadly 
clouded by the sudden death of a benefactress. 

Not until this hour had Ludwig and Hardine felt 
the full significance of their early orphanhood, the 
anxiety of homelessness. A warm, soft nest had 
hitherto sheltered them ; but where would their future 
residence stand } 

And it was not only the doubtful future, the sor- 
rowful present, but also the mystery of the past, that 
weighed so heavily on the hearts of the two poor 
children. They alone of all the numbers who looked 
forward anxiously to the final disposal of their home, 
knew that, at the same time, the mystery which had 
opened it to the soldier’s orphan would be solved. 

When on that unhappy morning the young hus- 
band and wife had joyously entered their old friend’s 
room to give her the usual greeting, they did not find 
her prepared to attend to the business of the estate. 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 345 

The bed was untouched, and she herself, still in her 
night-dress, was leaning back in the large arm-chair 
that had been brought from her father’s house. On 
the writing table before her lay the old family bible, 
open at the 8th chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, 
and the words of the 14th verse “for as many as are 
led by the spirit of God, they are the sons of God ” 
had evidently been freshly underlined. Beside the 
bible they found a manuscript, on which, in the usual 
firm characters, were the following words : 

“ My secret. To be read without witnesses by Ludwig 
and Hardine Nordheim the evening before the opening of 
my last will.” 

This communication seemed to have been sealed 
late at night, for the wax as well as the seal bearing 
the Reckenburg coat of arms showed signs of recent 
use, and the one candle, which was still sufficient for 
the keen eyes and simple habits of the lady of the 
castle, had burned low in the candlestick. Still, she 
had carefully extinguished the light, and then, with 
clasped hands, had probably rested for a time, ab- 
sorbed in memories of the past or plans for the 
future, and thus fallen asleep. Not as the children 
at first hoped, to wake again, no, she had fallen 
asleep forever. She had died of palpitation of the 
heart. No trace of struggle or suffering marred the 
calm features, a smile rested on the lips, and the last 
flush of life had not yet left the cheeks. The dead 
face looked more beautiful than the living one had 
ever done. It still showed the mild rapttfre with 


346 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


which she had welcomed death, the grandeur of the 
last hour, which transfigures the grief of the sur- 
vivors into an eternal consolation. The last von 
Reckenburg had died before the loss of a single 
power, at peace with God, the world, and herself. 

But to-day the interval of a month, which she had 
fixed before the disclosure of her long guarded 
secret, was at an end. The sun of the October day 
was setting, and we can imagine the solemn earnest- 
ness with which the young husband and wife, clad in 
deep mourning, ascended the steps of the terrace 
and silently walked down the avenue of elms to the 
edge of the forest. 

An affection which had been cherished for years 
had united Ludwig and Hardine, and love, it is said, 
is blind. But even the keen eyes of their patroness 
could scarcely have found two human beings, who 
seemed so created for each other. 

We might have imagined a scion of the old Reck- 
enburg race to possess the clear eyes, powerful 
frame, bronzed countenance, and erect bearing of the 
young man. The assistant, whom Fraulein Hardine 
had chosen, must be thus sure of himself and prompt 
in action. The joyous school boy, who had won the 
crippled soldier’s heart at the first glance, had become 
a noble, upright man. 

But Hardine, as she now nestled closely to her 
only protector, whose shoulder her little head, 
crowned with its wealth of golden hair, scarcely 
reached, every glance of the large, lustrous eyes a 
question, every movement of the pliant limbs, every 
flush of color that tinged the transparent complexion 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 347 

the expression of a loving nature, resembled the 
young birch tree, whose foliage trembles at the 
faintest breeze, and whose slender trunk would be 
snapped, if the towering crest of the stately oak did 
not shield it from the storm. 

It was one of the rare days, whose golden sunlight 
and shifting hues we gratefully enjoy as the last 
favor of the year. Ludwig and Hardine ascended a 
hill which, rising between the pleasure grounds and 
forest, afforded a view of the country for miles 
around. The spiders had veiled the stubble in the 
fields with a network of silver, the meadow saffron 
spread a glimmer of violet over the green grass. 
The bells of the grazing herds echoed softly on the 
air ; the fragrance of late blossoms of mignonette 
mingled with the spicy odors of the forest, which in 
every shade of autumnal foliage and evergreen pines 
formed a frame to the landscape. The broad, calm 
river flowed silently along, a mirror reflecting the 
unclouded blue sky, till far into the west it vanished 
in the glow of the setting sun ; but towards the east 
the slender sickle of the moon hung like a diadem 
above the dark pine forest, and from the valley rose 
the white mists, that remind us of the forebodings of 
our souls, when the brightness and joy of youth have 
vanished. 

No coloring throughout the year enhances the 
beauty of the simple forms of our scenery like that 
of autumn, and was it in farewell or for a welcome 
home, that it had displayed its brightest hues to-day ? 

Ludwig and Hardine had gazed silently at the fair 
scene. Now the young husband interrupted the 


34^ THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

stillness ; he clasped his wife’s hand and said, with a 
smile, in a frank, earnest tone: “Yes, it is a dear 
home, and it must be delightful to obtain the right 
of citizenship in it by owning the land. But dry 
your tears, my Hardine. Do we not belong to each 
other Has sJie not trained us to active labor.? You 
will be happy elsewhere, too, my dear, gentle wife.” 

“ Anywhere, Ludwig, anywhere with you ! ” she 
whispered, as she leaned her bright head upon his 
breast. But after a moment’s pause a shiver ran 
through her frame, as she added : “ It is not thaty 
Ludwig, not that alone — ” She hesitated, but he 
replied : “No, it is not thatj and I know what it is, 
my Hardine. There is no more anxious mystery 
than that of our origin. If the future is concealed 
from us, we want to have a clear view of the past, 
know the ancestors to whom we owe the blessing of 
life. And therefore — ” 

“Therefore ! ” murmured the young wife. 

“Therefore,” continued Ludwig with proud con- 
fidence, as if rejecting a doubt of his own honor, 
“ therefore I say to you that, whatever the immediate 
future may disclose, no stain will rest upon the noble 
image of the woman, who has been a mother to us 
both.” 

The wife stooped and kissed her husband’s hand, 
as if in gratitude to him for confirming her own 
belief. But her tears still flowed. “ And my father, 
Ludwig,” she sobbed, “my poor father — ” 

“Your father,” replied Ludwig, “in the shipwreck 
of his life, clung to the straw of a memory, a delusion, 
to save himself and his helpless child from sinking.” 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 


349 


The young wife sobbed convulsively. Her husband 
kissed her on the forehead and drew her down 
beside him on a bench, over which an ash-tree 
spread its heavy foliage. 

“ Compose yourself, my child,” said he. “We still 
have an hour. Let us prepare ourselves for the 
disclosures we expect, by recalling the memories of 
our childhood. I should never have allowed myself 
to enter upon such a subject, even with my beloved 
wife, so long as her eyes watched over us. I should 
have felt her secret disapproval. But now, when her 
own will reveals the secret, now I ask you, Hardine 
— did she ever speak to you of the past 

“Never, never, Ludwig,” replied the young wife. 

“ And to me only by a few grave words that dis- 
closed nothing,” said Nordheim, deeply moved by 
the recollection. 

“ On that happy morning, when she led me to 
express my long cherished wish, and granted it she 
asked : ‘ Do you know the origin of the child whom 
you will henceforth take under your protection, 
Ludwig .J*’ And when I answered in the affirmative, 
she continued : ‘ she was born in honor ; her father 
was a brave soldier, whose wounds cover later errors. 
Be a brave soldier also, and do not fear wounds in 
the always stern battle of life.’ That is the only 
time she ever reminded me of Augustus Muller.” 

Ludwig talked a long time about those sad days. 
The memory of the quick, curious schoolboy had 
grasped and retained many things, which the little 
girl had not noticed or had forgotten. He did not 
fear to remind her of her father’s neglected condition 


350 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

or even of her own, when, like a trembling half- 
fledged bird, almost stupefied with privation and 
suffering, she had appeared before the lady, who had 
hitherto never belied her aversion to every phase of 
ruin in favor of any human being. 

“ I cannot spare our hearts this retrospect, dear- 
est,” said he ; “ that we may understand this woman 
and her acts. Now ask yourself, whether such a vis- 
ion, intruding itself upon her with the most unprece- 
dented claims, and not sparing the most disgraceful 
insinuations, would have been likely to intimidate or 
strengthen our friend’s previous character and prin- 
ciples } ” 

Then he spoke of the consequences of these 
events. Hardine now learned, for the first time, at 
what a sacrifice the matron, who had so long been 
accustomed to homage, had preserved her secret, and 
both bowed in reverence before the silent heroism 
which the young wife designated by the ready name 
of “love.” 

“No,” said Ludwig, concluding his careful survey 
of the past ; “no, it was not what you call love, Har- 
dine, not a natural instinct, which made this woman 
depart from the rule that had governed her life and 
defy the opinion of the world. Nor was it the super- 
natural strength of the Christian, that accepts dis- 
grace and persecution as a blessing.” 

“Then, what was it, Ludwig.?” murmured the 
young wife; “what was it.?” 

“ ‘ A secret,’ as she herself calls it ; a secret, which, 
when it is revealed, will teach us that we have the 
power to do right, even against our inclination. This 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 35 I 

heavenly power is co7tscience. Fraulein Hardine ful- 
filled a duty. She performed it fully and entirely, 
according to her magnanimous nature. And if, in 
the course of time, the re-active blessing of love 
sprung from her virtue, we are doubly her debtors — 
first, for the sake of the conflict she endured, and 
secondly, that of the victory which made her our 
mother.” 

With these words Ludwig Nordheim rose, took 
his wife’s hand, and after a pause, continued with 
deep emotion : “ And, therefore, my Hardine, before we 
hear the last words from her lips, place your right hand 
in mine in token of an inviolable resolution. Whatever 
she may disclose, or withhold, we will respect as the 
revelation of a mother ; whatever she may command, 
or forbid, we will obey as the precepts of a mother. 
If we are to be poor and depend upon our own exer- 
tions among strangers, we will not despair ; it was a 
mother’s wisdom that perceived we needed the spur 
of necessity to mature our characters. If she points 
out a path to us, we will walk in it ; if she gives us 
any charge we will execute it, strong in our remem- 
brance of her. But, lastly, my Hardine, if her hand 
should draw aside the veil from a picture that angels 
might revere, we will date our family from the day 
when this woman gave the desolate child an asylum 
in her heart, and hold our heads proudly, because the 
courageous love of a mother has interposed between 
us and the spectres of darkness.” 

He paused. The young wife had placed both hands 
in his, and he held them for a time in a firm clasp. 
Evening had closed in ; the last hues of sunset faded ; 


352 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

the first star appeared above the horizon ; the white 
mists rising from the meadows grew denser and 
denser around the dark pines. Ludwig and Hardine 
gave one farewell glance at the scene, and then re- 
turned to the castle silently, but more quickly than 
they had come. Without delay they entered the sim- 
ply furnished tower chamber, which had remained 
undisturbed and still bore traces of the life that had 
fled. 

During the summer Fraulein Hardine had sat to a 
distinguished artist for the only picture of herself in 
existence, and which now, according to its destina- 
tion, occupies the last vacant space in the picture 
gallery at Reckenburg. This space had been left 
vacant by the childless countess for her husband, the 
prince, in order to close the long line of ancestors 
with the purple of royalty. Now the spectator 
stands thoughtfully before the simply attired form, 
which the artist has painted well and understood still 
better. 

We have a long row of pictures behind us. First, 
come the dames and nobles, somewhat coarsely 
moulded both by nature and art, of the days of 
chivalry, with their coifs and helmets, bodices and 
shirts of mail. Next, numerously represented, ap- 
pear the cavaliers and their wives, in curled perukes 
and queues, uniformed and covered with stars, with 
powder, toupets, and patches, the air of a dancing- 
master and the smirk of a courtier. Last is the 
small figure of the countess, with her sharp, bird-like 
profile, and a coronet, with nine points, on her tower- 
ing hair, as she stands before the ruins of the old 


APPENDIX BY THE EDITOR. 353 

castle, holding the plan of the new edifice in her 
jeweled hand. 

A century intervenes between this picture and the 
last, which concludes the line. And what a century! 
The most wonderful revolution the history of the 
world has known strides before our minds with 
seven league boots. The foot takes one step — and 
we stand before Fraulein Hardine’s portrait. 

Towering above all the women in the gallery, and 
even most of her masculine predecessors, she is repre- 
sented standing in a forest glade, in the act of ad- 
vancing, her eyes turned with an expression of calm 
confidence in the direction from which the light falls 
upon the scene. Her hair is brushed plainly back, 
she wears a green riding-habit, and holds in her hand 
an oak branch — we have met her in this guise daily 
on her estate. On her breast, her sole ornament, is 
the black and white order of the year of deliver- 
ance. 

This picture had not been delivered by the artist 
until after the lady’s death, and, surrounded with a 
garland of star-wort, had been placed by the children 
above the arm-chair in which the beloved friend had 
breathed her last. 

They took their places opposite to the picture, 
before the old-fashioned oak table, on which the 
Bible was still open at the eighth chapter of the 
Epistle to the Romans. Hardine lighted the can- 
dles and placed her trembling hands in her hus- 
band’s. After drawing a long breath he broke the 
seal of the manuscript and, without any interruption, 
except a loving glance at his weeping wife, or at the 


354 the last von reckenburg. 

portrait, read the contents, which we have given the 
reader as far as the death of the invalid soldier. 

The secret of the past was revealed, in the spirit 
Ludwig Nordheim had predicted to his wife. Only a 
few sheets remained ; he suspected that they must 
contain the directions for the future, and after a long, 
long pause, read the last portion of the story of this 
singular romance. 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 


355 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 

The concluding chapter of my story we have lived 
together, dear Hardine. It will tell you little that 
you do not remember, and, after all, is only the sum 
total of what we mutually owe each other. 

You think it was a loving hand that led the orphan 
from her father’s corpse, beneath her own roof. How 
often I have felt, with shame, your grateful tears 
upon my hand. My child, I was a very cold guar- 
dian, and it was a long time before I — loved you 
oh ! no, even learned to endure your presence. 

It was a moment in my life, when the last faint 
trace of interest in others threatened to become ex- 
tinct. The fate I had witnessed had startled, not 
softened, me. Out of love, Dorothee had become a 
sinner ; out of love, the man who had staked his 
whole existence upon her, an impostor ; in a vague 
impulse of the most justifiable feeling, Augustus 
Muller had turned slanderer, and had not I, myself, 
in my youth, from an impulse of sympathy, left the 
safe anchorage of my life, in order, when a matron, 
to reap the spleen of the world as a righteous pun- 
ishment ? “ The heart makes us fools and weak- 

lings ! ” I exclaimed with a bitterness never before 
known. 

For I felt the universal desertion all the more 
deeply because I did not seem to notice it, and be- 
cause, up to the last, I had not believed in its possi- 


35^ THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

bility. No one of these people, not even the count, 
was a loss to my heart ; my self-appreciation had not 
developed according to their valuation. But are not 
honor and respect like the air that keeps the breath 
in the body, the breath that labors the more violently, 
the more feebly the pulsations of the heart maintain 
the circulation within } All these people, I knew 
very well, led by vanity and selfishness, would sooner 
or later come back to me, wearing the semblance of 
respect. But I also knew that the foundation of re- 
spect was forever destroyed. And honor is not suffi- 
cient for itself, like conscience ; it lives only by and 
in reflected rays. It is a lonely fire, that burns in 
the light-house, but it warns the sailor at its feet, and 
if it is extinguished, the light-house is a useless 
thing. I seemed to myself like such a rayless 
light-house. 

And what had I to compensate me for having the 
honorable name of Reckenburg die out in mockery 
and derision } A task for the energetic mind } A 
pleasure } A great joy, or even the memory of one 
— for which many have hazarded fame and repose 
Well, the support of a beggar’s child was no heroic 
deed for the rich woman, who, without a sacrifice, 
might have maintained a hundred ; but it was far 
less a joy. 

If it had only been a boy ! An active, lively boy, 
like Ludwig Nordheim, who might have been trained 
for an able laborer on my estates. But a girl ! Of 
what use to me and my Reckenburg was this frail, 
weak creature, who, at the utmost, could only learn 
to manage knitting-needles and pot-ladles.? And 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 


357 


such a stunted, miserable child, who did not bear the 
slightest resemblance to the pair that had roused my 
youthful sense of beauty, and hitherto alone satisfied 
it. If I secured the little one a comfortable, plebian 
life, for which, after it had regained its strength, I 
would have it educated in some worthy family, my 
promise would be fulfilled and my task performed. 

The care of restoring this physical strength I had 
committed to my maid, on whom I could rely as im- 
plicitly as on myself. For “like master like servant,” 
was an axiom which had held good since the estab- 
lishment of the new order of things at Reckenburg. 
The child was dressed, fed, bathed, and nursed exactly 
according to the doctor’s prescription or my own 
orders, with the same accuracy that my linen was 
ironed, or my room dusted ; but there was also not a 
spark of any other feeling than the zeal of the ser- 
vant. I could be sure of this, without examining into 
the matter. Yet I did examine into it, whenever, 
before and after my inspection of the castle, I visited 
the servants’ rooms on the ground floor. There was 
no lack of care, and the child was evidently healthy. 
But it cowered wearily, with vacant, glassy eyes, in 
the chimney corner, or some sunny spot on the ter- 
race, never spoke unless questioned, and carelessly 
laid aside the toys that were placed in its hand. 
“ The child is an idiot ! ” I said, turning my back 
upon it. 

Months passed in this mood, the most mournful, 
because the most hopeless, of my life. One Novem- 
ber morning I received the royal patent, which was 
to raise me to the position of a married lady. I 


358 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

recognized the good intention of repairing a bungled 
affair, wrote my thanks, and laid the document 
among my other papers. 

In consequence of this, I set out on my way to the 
fields at a later hour than usual. The child was sit- 
ting on the terrace steps. Its eyes, which were usu- 
ally half-closed and gazed sleepily into vacancy, were 
now raised to the sky, where the sun was struggling 
to break through the veil of mist. The expression at- 
tracted my attention ; I walked silently past ; but 
after taking a few steps turned and saw the child 
still in the same attitude, not heeding that the black 
Newfoundland dog, my constant companion, was try- 
ing to make its acquaintance by taking a bit of bread 
from its hand. 

I could not forget the look. It was the first time 
that my thoughts had been occupied with the child. 
I shortened my morning walk, returned the same 
way, and paused before a picture, which, if I had 
been an artist, I would have sketched on the spot. 

The child was still sitting in the same place, with 
the great black dog waiting patiently beside her. 
She had thrown her little arm around its nec^, and 
buried her face in its shaggy hair. The sun, which 
now shone clear and bright, cast a gleam of gold 
over the fluttering hair. I now noticed, for the first 
time, that it curled prettily, that the thin limbs had 
grown white and rounded, and the cheeks, which at 
this moment were tinged with a faint color, were be- 
ginning to gain the plumpness of childhood. An air 
of peaceful repose was impressed upon the little 
figure. At my approach she raised her deep blue 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 359 

eyes to mine ; she smiled for the first time under my 
roof — perhaps for the first in her life. 

The child is freezing. It needs warmth ! ” said 
I ; and from that day it lived and slept in my tower- 
room, which received the noon and afternoon sun- 
light and was the only one of the long, magnificent 
suite of apartments, which was warm and at least 
comfortably furnished. 

I now ate at the same table with the little one, saw 
her in her bed in the morning and evening, and 
watched the development of the tender germ. To be 
sure, for a long time it was not with the love of the 
gardener, who rears a tiny plant from a seed ; but 
from a sort of curiosity to see whether it would 
really blossom. She daily grew fairer, more rounded, 
prettier. I often exclaimed, in surprise : “ Dorl ! ” 
But she did not move like Dorl, did not laugh, did 
not prattle, did not play like her, and the great black 
dog was her only, but devoted friend. 

I had agreed with the pastor upon a plan of educa- 
tion, which was to be commenced after New Year’s 
Day. On the afternoon before Christmas, he came 
to invite the child to a Christmas tree, which his son, 
now at home spending his vacation, had arranged. 
There would be no entertainment at the castle ; the 
servants received their usual presents in money and 
the customary holiday feast. In other respects the 
night, that was a season of rejoicing to all Christian- 
ity, resembled every other evening in the year. 

Young Herr Ludwig had accompanied his father 
and remained with the child, while I walked to the 
village with the pastor to attend to some of the 


360 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

affairs of the parish. When we returned, the boy 
was sitting at the window, through which the sun- 
light slanted into the room, with the child in his lap, 
her little hands clasped in his, her head resting on 
his breast, and her eyes, sparkling with an eager 
light, raised to his ; he had just finished telling her a 
pretty legend of the Christ-child. I had never 
thought of telling the little one a story ; nay, I really 
did not know whether I could remember one. 

I ordered the toys and sugar-plums I had provided 
to be carried to the parsonage and, though not in- 
vited, accompanied the child. Long as I had regu- 
larly spent my winters at Reckenburg, for thirty-six 
years I had seen no Christmas festival, and there 
must certainly be some spell emanating from the 
brilliantly lighted fir tree, a spell that awakens a 
sacred family joy. The most confirmed old maid has 
a mother’s feelings, while she sees the Christmas 
candles burn, and the spicy odor of the fir, blended 
with that of the wax lights, fruits, and candies, that 
inimitable Christmas fragrance, salutes her nostrils. 

And how joyously Herr Ludwig played on the 
piano and sang : “ Hark ! the glad sound, the Saviour 
comes!” How artistically he had adorned his tree, 
how mysteriously he divided the gifts, how charm- 
ingly the Christ-child looked in its cradle of moss. 
A merry party of children from the school-house had 
been invited to the festival, and — do you still re- 
member it? — little Hardine vied with the whole 
circle in dancing round the Christmas table ; she 
played, laughed, and twittered after her teacher Oh I 
fir-tree, oh I fir-tree” more eagerly and joyously than 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 


36 


any of the others. But when, late in the evening, 
holding my hand, she returned through the silent 
village, over the snow glittering in the moonlight, to 
the silent castle, she repeated word for word the 
story -of the Christ-child, which she had heard for the 
first time to-day from a stranger’s lips, and for the 
first time the aged heart perceived the likeness of 
God not only in the One gracious, but every helpless 
child. 

** The little one is not an idiot,” I said, as before 
going to sleep I saw her lying in her little bed with 
flushed cheeks and quick, regular breathing, ‘‘but 
she needs excitement and pleasure.” 

On the first holiday a teacher appeared at Castle 
Reckenburg. Nordheim junior, as proxy for his 
much occupied papa. And when at Epiphany Sun- 
day the proxy laid aside his dignity, the wonderful 
child knew twelve fairy tales and all the letters of 
the alphabet, as well as the cardinal numbers. Her 
progress was somewhat slower under the older 
professor’s method, but always advanced with seven 
league boots during Herr Ludwig’s vacations, espe- 
cially in the art of rhetoric. When the king’s birthday 
came round, I no longer thought of placing the 
little candidate for the pot ladle in any family, but 
thanked God that I was permitted to keep her as the 
treasure of the new tower. 

But it was astonishing how many unsuspected 
wants I daily found to satisfy, how with each grati- 
fication the hunger for new things increased, and how 
my sober, uniform life gradually became so bright 
and changeful. The child needed comfort and free- 


362 


THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 


dom, playmates and friends, flowers and birds, 
singing and music ; she needed alms for the poor and 
shelter for the orphans, whom she had attracted to 
her ; in a word — the child needed love ! 

When we glance over the lives of distinguished 
people, as history or poets describe them, we find in 
the eager struggles of their youth, in joy and sorrow, 
an effort to pass out of their own personality into 
that of others, until at last, after many an error, 
egotism is banished and the heroic souls, forgetting 
themselves, labor for the community. But it is not 
merely with this chosen few, among ordinary mortals 
a more limited, but unvarying mode of development 
is perceptible : joy, longing, and fulfilment in youth, 
and in age resignation, loneliness, modest retirement 
into our vocation, the mechanism of the hour, and 
with the happiest among us — into religion. 

Nature and fate had led me by the opposite path. 
I had scarcely passed beyond childhood when, with- 
out dancing or amusement, friends or conflict, except 
the transitory one with a dream, I entered a mas- 
culine sphere of action, labored for others more than 
myself, and until middle life felt my existence filled 
by this labor. Not until the age when others begin 
to have white hairs, did the spirit of my lost youth, 
a vague longing stir within me. 

And this late, almost incomprehensible longing, 
was stilled as if by a miracle. Out of the whole 
great world from which I could choose, it was the 
most desolate, forsaken creature, a stumbling-block 
thrown in my way, that crept into my heart, wove a 
spell around it, roused it, filled its inmost corner; 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 


363 


that crowded out all claims, outbid all wishes, that 
unconsciously transformed all my surroundings, re- 
modelled old customs, and set the rich fulness of the 
present time, young faces, natural pleasures, and the 
rule of love in the place of inflexible axioms. 

My dear Hardine, who is most indebted to the 
other, the helpless orphan, who took a child’s place 
in the house of the rich old woman, or the rich old 
woman who, through the beggar’s child, obtained 
youth, love, and pleasure, who through this child 
first became a woman and a happy mother ? 

Into a lonely spring, cool and transparent as 
crystal, a seed once fell, the germ of a flower, whose 
blossom no one saw. For long years it remained at 
the bottom, then suddenly shot upward and dimmed 
the clear mirror. But the sunlight was refracted in 
brilliant hues from the darkened surface ; the first 
green sprig rose above it, soon a leaf unfolded, then 
a blue flower of the sweetest fragrance ; there was 
life and motion in the lonely fountain, spring within 
and around it, color and perfume, the song of birds 
and vivifying sunlight. The transformation in the 
old spring seemed like a fairy tale. 

And therefore, my children — not because a strange 
destiny was to be disclosed — therefore I have called 
my story a secret, and revered “ the logic of nature ” 
as a marvel of grace. 

The little world, to which our Reckenburg had 
become a centre, could not fail to notice its gradual 
renovation, and many expected the stranger who 
had unconsciously caused the change to be, not only 


364 the last von reckenburg. 

the heiress of the property, but also of the fading 
name of Reckenburg. 

But it never entered my mind to prop up, with this 
new scion, the old tree which, according to God’s will, 
was to die out. I have honored an old nobility as a 
secure support ; I look upon a new nobility as a soap- 
bubble. Young races may strive after more lasting 
foundations. But I would never, by the sound of a 
name, have perpetuated a delusion which, caused by a 
premature hope, had been fostered by a half neces- 
sary, half defiant silence. The last von Reckenburg 
will not go down to her grave with even the sembla7ice 
of dishonor. 

But neither had I any intention of imposing the 
burden of a great property on your weak shoulders. 
I was not disposed to bestow my work as a source of 
ease, even upon the person I most fondly loved. It 
was a charge, a trust I transferred, and you are a 
woman, Hardine, whose strength is rooted in the 
strength of the heart to which you belong. The 
child needs love,” I said. ** Let her love freely, 
according to the dictates of her own heart, without 
any obligations save those that spring from this 
heart.” 

Therefore it was not nnintentio7tally^ that I kept 
every one in doubt about your future relations to 
Reckenburg ; nay, I cherished the doubt myself. You 
were reared and educated to suit any station, and it 
might have been supposed that my foster daughter 
would not have lacked the means to secure her a firm 
position in this station. A rich man, or a poor one — 
an old name or a new one — a contemplative or active 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 365 

character : the heart had a free choice, for the inherit- 
ance of Reckenburg was independent of it. 

It must not be concealed, however, that a connec- 
tion between the two closing acts of my life, espe- 
cially an alliance with the count’s family, hovered 
before my mind, and it is uncertain whether the 
sound of the ancient name did not exert a secret 
charm. It is certainly a difficult matter to do away 
with fixed mental habits called prejudices, nor is it 
even necessary thus to level one’s little fragment of 
the soil of life with rake and shovel ; if only in the 
decisive hour the judgment rises far above prejudice 
and the heart is in the right place. 

So secretly, it is possible ; the sound of the old name 
in which the new one was to disappear tempted me ; 
but openly, I am sure, only the desire to fulfil a dis- 
appointed expectation spoke. I esteemed the count 
more than ever in his widened sphere of influence ; 
r knew him as the only person among my acquain- 
tances who, inflexible as he had been towards the 
appearance of evil, had not distrusted me for a 
moment. I saw the handsome young cavalier’s 
regard for my Hardine, and if her heart inclined to 
him, why should not the advantages the parents had 
striven to obtain be reaped by the children } My 
unsuspicious Hardine, you did not see my wishes 
and efforts in this direction, and to-day I thank God 
for it. For when it became clear to me, that the 
count’s estimation of rank was perhaps weak enough 
to bow before the inheritance of Reckenburg in my 
child’s hand, but too strong to take this child home 
without a blush ; when I learned to know the young 


366 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

gentleman as his father’s son only in his weaknesses ; 
but lastly, when I saw how Hardine’s lips smiled at 
the unexpected desertion, and how immediately after 
her lids drooped before another’s glance, the last 
bandage fell from my eyes, and at least one half of 
my last deed was arranged in secret. 

'Ludwig Nordheim, a native of my parish, was the 
grandson of my gentle friend and the son of my 
efficient co-worker; I had seen the best traits of both 
blended harmoniously in the boy, and even detected 
the charm that the first story-teller aroused in 
another heart. But they were only children, years 
of separation elapsed, and when he returned home it 
was to take leave of his father’s grave and, dependent 
upon himself, make his own way in the world. 

Energy, a cheerful temperament, a sincere love 
for his native soil, and — my child’s blush, what 
more did I need to induce me to ask if he would 
become the elderly woman’s assistant in her daily 
labor.? And what more did he require to consent 
and introduce many a new idea into the renovating 
work .? 

Now for the first time, in the joyous intercourse of 
hearts, everything around me became warm and 
bright, fresh and gay. The present seemed so 
delightful, that I did not wish to think of the changes 
of the future. ‘‘There is still time,” I said, delayed 
my decision day after day, and Heaven knows how 
long I might still have hesitated, if a ray from without 
— or shall I say from above — had not broken 
through this comfortable self-forgetfulness .? 

Do you remember, Ludwig, the afternoon, about 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 


367 


six weeks ago, when you came to me with the words : 

Here is a newspaper containing the obituary of the 
famous Doctor Faber. I did not know that he was 
your countryman, perhaps might have been your 
contemporary. Were you acquainted with him, 
Ffaulein von Reckenburg ” 

Some business matter summoned you away at 
that moment, and spared me an answer which I 
could scarcely have found breath to utter. The first 
and only remaining companion of my youth had 
gone before me I 

I took the paper in my hand and read the notice. 
He had died on the third of August, after a short 
illness. The third of August! You know what 
that day meant to me. Can we believe in such fatal 
dates } Ought we to turn from them, as a bewilder- 
ing game of chance ? Decide according to your own 
heart, but — the clock is striking one — strange — it 
is the twentieth of September, the anniversary of the 
battle of Valmy, on which I bring this record to a 
close. 

And I read on : The man, like his wife, had died 
without heirs, without relatives or near connections. 
No point of honor would, therefore, be violated if I 
now told you, Hardine, and him you love: “This 
man’s wife was your father’s mother.” 

So the old magician. Death, once more called the 
old figures before me, and the sorrowful past intruded 
into my bright present. But, strangely enough, as 
vision after vision unrolled before me, your image, 
Hardine, suddenly appeared to me in a new light. 

I had, probably, when looking at you, often been 


368 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

reminded of the charming Dorothee. I saw her 
golden curls on your head ; your features, your in- 
quiring eyes resembled hers. But your eyes asked a 
different question ; your figure was taller, your com- 
plexion paler, and the quiet gravity of your move- 
ments made the resemblance only an occasional oTie. 
No, it was not Dorothee’s granddaughter, it was sim- 
ply the child who had nestled in my longing heart. 

On that evening, I now saw in my child — not 
Dorothee’s granddaughter — but, for the first time, the 
granddaughter of the man, for whose heir the black 
countess had rebuilt the family seat of her ancestor, 
the man, who, if he had lived, would have prepared a 
home in this heritage for the beloved mother of his 
son. I felt as if I had only been holding a trust for 
the rightful owner. 

Among these old recollections and new ideas I at 
last fell asleep and — dreamed. I have never, during 
my life, been much molested or blessed by dream- 
faces, either waking or sleeping, and I need not assure 
you, my children, that I consider myself anything but 
a visionary. I was probably agitated, but not ex- 
cited, and in perfect health when I fell asleep that 
evening, and in perfect health I awoke the next 
morning, but with the distinct consciousness of a 
dream. 

What dream ? It seems to me that I might have 
painted it ; might still paint it to-day ; and yet it was 
something indescribable, infinite, which we only feel, 
not see. Shall I call it a surging sea ? Or was it a 
dazzling cloud, which floated down before a throne 
and surrounded with a transparent veil four figures, 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 369 

kneeling hand in hand, with their eyes raised to 
heaven. But I saw these figures as distinctly as I 
ever saw them in my life, they were Siegmund Faber, 
Dorothee, her son, and her son’s father. And a fifth 
was approaching them to close the chain between the 
last and first, but this fifth was I, myself. The 
shining veil floated down over me also, and voices be- 
neath it whispered : “For as many as are led by the 
spirit of God, they are the sons of God.” 

Amid these whispers I awoke, and it was some 
time before I remembered that only the fountain was 
splashing in the morning stillness, and the shining sea 
that surrounded me was the morning sun, gilding the 
mist rising from the meadow. 

I hastily rose. My pulse beat as calmly and quietly 
as usual, as it does at this hour. But something had 
awaked within, which constantly urged me on. If I 
had said until to-day : “There is still time enough !” 
I now exclaimed, “ It is time ! ” and knew without 
reflection for what the time had come. 

That morning, Ludwig, I induced you to utter 
words I had long expected to hear, and in the even- 
ing began these records. But on the day when I en- 
trusted the darling of my heart to you, for time and 
eternity, I wrote my will. 

You will open it — it may be in weeks, or it may 
be in years — on the morning after you have read 
these pages, and you will And in it only these few 
words : “ The heiress of all my property is my foster 
daughter, Hardine Nordheim, n^e Muller.” 

I bestow the inheritance of Reckenburg upon the 
granddaughter, as my predecessor would have given 


370 THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. 

it to her ancestor. I bestow it upon the wife of my 
trusted co-laborer. But I also bestow it upon the 
child who awoke in the lonely woman a mother’s love, 
and above all I bestow it upon the orphan, with whom 
the spirit of love entered my domain. I do it with- 
out any conditions, for I am sure of my children’s 
hearts. 

So let this legacy crown the work of the dead race. 
Its motto will rule in the young tree amid the chang- 
ing streams of time, and the spirit of God exert its 
influence to bless all future generations. 

It was after midnight when the last word was 
uttered. Ludwig and Hardine knelt with clasped 
hands before the portrait of the last von Reckenburg, 
to renew a solemn vow. And until this hour they 
have been faithful to their oath. 


END. 


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